


The Lionheart, The Witch & The King's Temporary Wardrobe

by thatsthefrailtyofgenius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsthefrailtyofgenius/pseuds/thatsthefrailtyofgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three thousand years after the fateful death of Arthur Pendragon at Avalon, and Merlin is still waiting for his King. Studying Arthurian Legends at the local University to pass the time, he meets clever, charming young witch, Hermione Granger who makes him smile for the first time in a long time. Will he be able to reveal his true identity? Or will his fear and grief get in the way? More importantly, what will they do when Arthur wakes up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, first proper crossover, yay.
> 
> Now you'll have to bare with me because I've written a few variations of Hermione's character over the last couple of years, and this version of her is definitely not everyone's cup of tea. I can assure you however, that she is as compliant to the books as I can possibly make her whilst baring in mind my interpretation of her. Also, I started this thinking it was going to be a Merlin/Hermione thing, but then I realised I wanted an eventual Merthur, so that's what it turned out to be.
> 
> Let me know what you think.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been stood outside wrapped in her duvet, or of the exact moment when she'd lost the feeling in her feet that were only covered by thin socks, but she knew that for the first time in a long time she felt at peace.

The cold caressed her cheeks, her breath turning to curling, chaotic patterns of condensation after immediately escaping her chapped lips. She swallowed to wet her throat, a stray strand of hair flickering in the very small breeze.

For a second, she closed her eyes, feeling the moonlight on her skin and taking in the winter night air, and when she opened her eyes, they settled on the brightest star, clearer than ever tonight. A smile crept its way up the corners of her mouth, and she nodded, pulling the duvet tighter around her.

"Happy Birthday Sirius," she said softly at the star, a single tear dripping down her cheek, landing on the hand clutching the fabric to her chest.

All these years and she'd never really taken the time out to observe just how stunning and twinkling the star was in it's own right. And now, three years after the war was ended, she watched it through an adult's eyes; changed much from the naive little girl she had once been, into a University student Mastering in Arthurian Legends and English Literature.

And on this day, she was unsure as to what had awoken her at three in the morning on a Saturday, just that she was a very nostalgic kind of lonely and had spotted the stars from her window. Of course, Hermione had never been able to resist the beautiful and miraculous and so this was what had drawn her from the comfortable confines of her bed out onto the balcony of her student flat, cocooned in her bed covers, staring wondrously up at her old friend's star.

And as she'd looked more and more at this particular star, she'd remembered fleetingly, that it was Sirius' birthday and the words from the letter he'd left to her in the event of his death.

'Should you remember over the years that it is the anniversary of my birth, also remember that you were loved by me, and that you made my life a happy one, and there's no tragedy in that'

It was this line that was on a loop through her brain, and these words that had conjured the soft, single tear from the ducts of her eyes. She'd never been close to Sirius to any big significance, but she most certainly had cared about him, and this line in the letter had proven that he had cared for her in turn.

"I hope you're happy," she choked gently, the words only slightly strained in her throat.

"And I hope you're still a bitter old bastard with an over-active ego and cock," she grinned, shaking her head in fondness before tilting it to the side a little, frowning slightly.

"Have a drink on me old man, and don't forget to be just as cheeky and childish as you always were," she said with finality, drawing in a final, deep, sharp breath and settling herself leaning forward against the bars of the balcony, appreciating the clarity of the pitch black.

* * *

"Oh, sorry, I was a million miles away for a moment," she exclaimed, blinking a lot to get her vision back properly, leaning down to help the guy she'd knocked into with picking his books back up.

"It's fine, honestly; I couldn't have been paying too much attention to where I was going either, otherwise I'd have seen you," a clear, well rounded English accent responded as they stood slowly and she passed him the journals she'd managed to gather from the floor for him.

She had to do a double take for a second because blimey, this man was... well, he was definitely something.

He was about the same height as her, lean and pale with dark hair and striking cool blue eyes and soft lips. His cheekbones were prominent, and he looked about nineteen; yes, he had to be her age at least.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't think I know your name; are you in one of my classes?" she asked, still a little flustered. It was not very often that Hermione was particularly attracted to anyone, especially after the fiasco with Ron the previous summer; so it was something to be noted if she had to stop and gain thought process again when looking at someone for only a few seconds.

He did look briefly familiar though, hence the question as to what he was studying and whether they shared any courses.

"Right, uh, yes; yes I think I'm in your Arthurian legends lecture on a Monday morning"

"And Wednesday," she added, nodding with interest, nibbling her bottom lip with a small nervous smile.

She had to remember how to breathe properly when he smiled back. God, he really was... well, she didn't really think there was a word for it. He wasn't necessarily conventionally handsome, but he did have a beautifully bright smile.

"Yeah, Professor Calbre; I remember, you sit in the middle of the lecture hall with that girl Cassie," he nodded, holding out a hesitant hand for her to shake.

"That's right, and I think you sit near the front on the left by the whiteboard," she managed, shifting around on her feet, suddenly finding herself unable to keep still.

"Sure. You like that class?" he asked and she could feel the charming awkwardness flickering between them upon only just meeting properly. It was rare that her palms became sweaty, but she nodded enthusiastically nonetheless.

"Oh yes, I find it fascinating," she said with fervour. There was a small moment of silence that had them both laughing and looking up at the ceiling.

"Well hey, maybe we could get a coffee sometime after one of the lectures," she ended up just grinning awkwardly, unable to help herself smiling so widely. He nodded, squinting one eye, still chuckling.

"Sure, that would be great," he agreed, putting the last of his books in his leather side bad and throwing it over his shoulder.

"I'll- see you later then," she said and he nodded again, flashing her another quick bashful grin before ungracefully slipping passed her and walking down the corridor.

She frowned as he turned the corner though. She'd never caught his name.

* * *

"Hermione," Calbre called from his desk at the front of the lecture hall and she looked up from her doodle of a Hippogriff, nodding.

"Here professor," she called back, moving to go back to her sketching before dark hair caught the corner of her eye and she stopped her line of vision, soft naturally pale skin kept it there and the memory of her blunder last week made her mouth smile without permission.

"Oh wow, you're checking that guy out," Cassie grinned dreamily from her seat beside Hermione and she scoffed, brushing it off.

"No I'm not!" Hermione lied, shaking her head and sitting back in her chair, completely distracted from her drawing now.

She did however, listen out for when he answered his name. She nearly laughed when she heard it.

"Merlin?" Calbre said, and the guy's head moved a little.

"Yes sir," he said quieter, not needing to shout seeing as he was closer to their teacher than she was.

It was about another three minutes before the lesson actually started but as she went to writing her notes, she could feel eyes on her and looked up again, trying for the first time not to smile at Merlin, but she couldn't refrain and ended up having to drop her pen on the desk and rub her hands on her jeans because they were getting all sweaty again.

"Told you," Cass whispered from beside her but she simply pouted and glanced once more down at Merlin before picking up her pen again, trying to remember the sentence she'd been trying to structure.

"Bit strange don't you think? That he'd subject himself to an Arthurian Legends class when his name is 'Merlin'?" Hermione said to no one in particular.

"Geez, but his name is like no body else's concern," Cassie said in her far-away tone, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.

"I guess you're right Cass... he's just... strange. Something about him... its young, but really, really old at the same time. There's an immaturity there, but he's got some sort of wisdom to him too-" Hermione had to stop herself from talking because she was staring at Merlin again and if she kept doing that then he'd probably get irritated and turn around to tell her to get a camera if she wanted to take a picture of him or something. She actually considered the thought for a second, a picture of him would allow her to study him properly; god no though, she shook her head at herself again, that would be too creepy.

He mostly kept to himself from the information she had to go on, only talked really if he was spoken to first, seemed charismatic enough, smiled wide enough to genuinely be happy sometimes. She supposed he looked like her in that sense though. Even the people surrounded by others could be incredibly lonely, and despite still being content with where she was, she was indeed very alone in her life.

The clothes he wore were a little out of place too. Not that they didn't suit him or anything, just that they seemed as though they were designed in a different era. He had on a dark purple cotton pullover, a brown leather jacket, a red neckerchief, dark brown skin fit jeans tucked in black leather boots. Sometimes he alternated between black jacket and brown, or purple cotton to blue, or black boots to black low-top converses; but he always wore the same type of outfit. It was as though he was holding onto something, something that had been a routine for a very long time.

"Today we'll be discussing the much more watered down side of things. I mean, the legends are all well and violent, and there are many different stories and paths, but the story I want to look at today is the constant link between Merlin/Emrys and Arthur.

Now, as we all know, many elements and incidents that are now an integral part of the Arthurian story, appear in Geoffrey's  _Historia_ , including Arthur's father Uther Pendragon, the wizard Merlin, Arthur's wife Guinevere, the sword Excalibur, Arthur's conception at Tintagel, his final battle against Mordred at Camlann and final rest in Avalon.

The 12th-century French writer Chrétien de Troyes, who added Lancelot and the Holy Grail to the story, began the genre of Arthurian romance that became a significant strand of medieval literature. In these French stories, the narrative focus often shifts from King Arthur himself to other characters, such as various Knights of the Round table; most famous of which are the tales of how Gwen very nearly ran off with Lancelot, but chose to stay in Camelot with Arthur eventually.

Arthurian literature thrived during the Middle Ages but waned in the centuries that followed until it experienced a major resurgence in the 19th century. In the 21st century, the legend lives on, not only in literature but also in adaptations for theatre, film, television, comics and other media.

What I want you to do, seeing as we are simply a day and a half away from the break up for the winter holiday, is find me the most ridiculous tale you can find in the romanticised culture within Arthurian Legend. Feedback in fifteen minutes," Calbre grinned, winking at his class once and going back behind his desk to watch his students immediately begin to chat about what he had asked of them and flipping through notebooks and journals for answers.

"Cass, you read a lot of this stuff, what's the weirdest thing you've ever seen?" Hermione asked, opening her own text book, dragging her finger down the glossy contents page and finding the section she was looking for, flicking to the correct page.

"I dunno man, some of that shit is really messed up. Like one time, this girl sent me fanfiction between Gwen and Morgana Pendragon, there's even some cult stuff between Morgana and her half-sister Morgause. Did you know though, that Mordred is actually, in some stories, Morgana's nephew? Yeah he's supposed to be either Morgause's son or her other sister Elaine? There's fanfiction between them too," Cassie sighed, a smile on her face. Hermione stared at her, thoroughly scared for a few moments before smiling back and nodding, gently patting her hand. It wasn't like Cassie understood when people were patronising her anyway.

"Hermione, you got something for us?" Calbre said ten minutes later. Hermione blushed furiously but nodded.

"Sure. I know there are a couple of the comics and fanfiction culture placing Morgana in a love affair with Mordred who is in fact her Nephew in some stories, but mostly it's all really set between Merlin and Arthur," Hermione managed, blushing even further when she caught her Merlin pursing his lips to avoid bursting out in laughter from the corner of her eye.

"Really? Is any of the fanfiction well written?" the Professor asked. She rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't know professor, Merthur fanfiction isn't really my thing," she replied with a small, amused smile. A tiny snicker ran through the lecture theatre, and he nodded, smiling back.

"Right, but it springs from somewhere, right? Merlin, why don't you tell us why the Wizard who shared your name and the King of Camelot are written together as a romantic couple?"

"It's just in a much more comfortable society where actually in some parts, homosexuality is favoured over heterosexuality. It's glorified; I mean, there's no reason why it shouldn't be, what I will say is that I very much doubt it has any truth to it. Merlin and Arthur were simply best friends; however I can see how it would be tempting to write about the 'servant boy' and his 'master' especially with how much more – uh – materialised BDSM is becoming," he said the last sentence a little awkwardly, earning a laugh from pretty much everyone. Hermione saw a falter in his statement though, he wasn't being honest about something, it was in nearly everything he said.

"A valid point; but not ridiculous enough Hermione, someone give me something else, something _scandalous_!" he said, pointing at a student on the other side of the hall. Hermione pretty much drowned out the rest, she was too caught up in the surety of Merlin's voice when he talked of the legendary Arthur Pendragon; like he had known the man his whole life.

* * *

"Merlin," she said, catching his arm after class, ignoring the blush on her face when his eyes automatically recognised her and a smile broke out on his face. She pulled his aside from the throng of students pouring down the small staircase coming from the lecture theatre.

"Do you have a free period now?" she asked, deciding that three days of constantly finding herself watching him was enough, and that she needed to have a proper conversation with him.

"Yeah I'm off all afternoon now. Do you- I mean, would you like to get that Coffee now?" he asked, stumbling as usual. She let out a tired sigh but nodded, smiling again and gesturing for him to follow her out of the main History block of the University and out into the town.

"Are you- are you okay?" he asked, frowning at her as they walked. She nodded again, pulling her jacket tighter around her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, opening the door to Starbucks and stepping aside for him to follow her in.

"Just tea please," she said distractedly at the man behind the counter.

"Name love?"

"Hermione, thanks. Merlin, what are you having?" she asked, holding back a smirk at his rolling eyes when the counter boy raised his eyebrows at Merlin's name.

"Oh, same thank you," he nodded at the guy.

When they were sat down and waiting for their drinks to cool down, she began nibbling her lip in thought.

"You seem to know a lot more about Arthurian Legends than the rest of the kids in our class," Hermione said, sounding impressed. She could tell he'd caught onto her curiosity though and nodded, grinning as he sipped his tea.

"Well I've been studying it for a  _very_ long time. Since I can really remember actually," he said, shrugging.

"Are your family into Myth and Lore then?" she asked, genuinely interested. She wanted to know anything that would help her figure out why the hell she was so bloody intrigued by this boy.

"Sort of I suppose; my mother was never really that interest in it, but my father... well, he was quite... involved with the whole scene," Merlin explained. She hid her frown. There was something he was filtering out, something more to it all. She'd been part of a war for so long, it was very easy for her to pick out when someone was withholding information from her. Still, she understood how social norms worked, she'd have to give to get with Merlin it seemed.

"I sort of grew up knowing about things like this too I guess, but my friends and classmates had never really been that interested no matter how much I tried to inflict it on them," she chuckled. He smiled, nodding again; she was starting to see a pattern here.

"I get what you mean. I think it's just a matter of being a certain person to really be taken up by the lure of history, it's only lately I've been wanting to take it up as a masters; it's interesting to see it from the point of view of others... amusing too," he added on the end, obviously referring to their earlier lesson and the task they'd been set of finding strange romantic pairings within the Arthurian universe.

"Well what do you know about it all?" she asked. He nearly choked on his tea, spluttering and coughing, he put his cup down, brow raised high.

"You want me to tell you  _everything_ about the Arthurian Legends?" he breathed incredulously. She half-laughed, nodding enthusiastically, sitting forward closer to look at him properly.

"Yes! I... want to 'hear it from another person's perspective,'" she teased, repeating his words at him.

"I don't- I don't really know where to start," he struggled, taken aback by her eagerness and genuine want to hear him talk about the things that people normally called him a nerd for.

"At the start, dummie," she tutted "where you think it all began, where the story came from, how it all happened. I don't know, just- how you picture it in your head," she urged, taking a tiny swig of her drink and giving him her undivided attention. He was still looking at her in awe when he started talking.

"Well I uhh... I guess I think we can assume that Merlin started off being sent to Camelot by his Mother who was worried that news of his 'gifts' would get out. Obviously magic was punishable by death in those days, Uther was ruthless, driven by hatred and ignorance and a bad experience in his earlier days of ruling so letting someone convicted of practicing magic or even conspiring with a sorcerer, live, was not even an option.

I mean, I suppose, to give him at least a little credit, he was kind hearted to an extent; he helped who he could if they were innocent and rewarded people for their bravery, chivalry, honesty. They were all qualities he admired," Merlin said, as though he himself had known Uther Pendragon personally. He talked with an enrichment, a depth that she had not seen before, not even on their professor's face. It was like he was telling the story of his own life, like he was stepping into a distant memory, describing what he could see in a pensive filled with his own thoughts.

She couldn't bring herself to interrupt him now.

"But he was bitter and showed no mercy for those whom he had convinced himself were of guilt, he would not listen to reason once he had made up his mind and those around him sometimes payed for it with blood or their lives.

I suppose, from what I've read, Merlin would have walked straight in on something, a hanging, I think or a Warlock being burned at the stake. There are early tales of a witch appearing once the ceremony had been completed, claiming that the dead person was her son, threatening Uther that his own son Arthur shall die in return. He didn't listen of course, and simply allowed celebrations to go on; word tells of a party celebrating the absence of magic in the kingdom for a continued length of time, that's how Merlin and Arthur were first forced together.

Of course, even you know that when they first met, they quarreled Arthur must have been bullying a manservant in the courtyard or something. At the time, Merlin had not been aware of Arthur's status and had not filtered his words when telling him to leave the manservant be. He was thrown in the cells for the night, only to have another run in with the Prince the next day, ending up in the stocks having fruit thrown at him. That was when he met Gwen-" he cut himself off, seemingly dealing with some sort of inner turmoil before he swallowed, eyelashes fluttering slightly in conflict before he carried on.

Throughout his version of the legend, Hermione remained enthralled with the way his eyes betrayed his almost every thought, how his hands moved whilst he explained and described things in detail. Arthurian Legend was based a lot on fact and fairy tales; but with Merlin telling it right in front of her, she almost believed every word of it all.

She painted a picture in her mind of the events, imagining Arthur to be tall, fit and blonde, a figure of both innocence and insecurity, but also power and bravery. She saw Morgana as a beautifully kind faced young woman rich with compassion and the aristocratic posture of the King's Ward. She envisioned Gwen to be soft featured, nervous but fiery and driven, oblivious to all the sorrow that would soon make her possessor of the royal seal and widowed young Queen of Camelot. Uther was a hard faced man in her mind, older and clever yet with the common sense and emotional capacity of a nine year old with bitter, sad eyes and intimidating demeanor.

They were like characters out of the books her mother used to read her when she was a small girl, like Rapunzel and Hansel and Gretel; only with no real happily ever after.

"So what do you think happened to Merlin after all that?" she asked, captivated and even more intrigued than ever as she searched his face. His complexion looked even more pale now, as though he had seen a ghost and she could have sworn she saw him repressing shakes and shivers.

"Not sure, there are further tales I suppose, bit like Gandalf in his older years apparently, adventurer... wouldn't that be an ending?" Merlin sighed, smiling sadly.

"The under-appreciated, heartbroken sorcerer off on a longer than life adventure, always waiting for his King to return," he said dramatically. There was a slight falter behind those words though; there was a falter behind nearly everything he said and it was only making her want to know more.

"Do you think you're related to Merlin? Like it can't just be a coincidence that you got his name and you're this interested in it all?" she inquired, frowning and nibbling her bottom lip again.

"Never bothered to look back; it's- complicated," he tried and she looked at him suspiciously now.

"How complicated?"

"More than you'll ever know," he sighed, bowing his head for a second.

"You know, it's strange, the more I hear about you, the less I feel like I know," she asseverated, licking her lips to wet them and sitting back a bit now the story was over.

"Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people," he responded, looking at her awkwardly through one eye.

"Merlin, you know I could swear you're a-" but she stopped herself, shaking her head. No. If he was a wizard, she'd know for sure, not just have a niggly feeling. This was different though, like there was something physical, something real drawing her towards him.

"A what?" he said, like he was urging her to say something, begging her to just so that he'd be able to tell her everything; whatever he was hiding, whatever was obviously eating him up inside.

Whatever she knew about Merlin, one thing was key to him, he was absolutely full of guilt. It was hurting him very much and he was very good at concealing it to the passing eye. She had only noticed it because she had been looking without realising. She had seen that look before, worn that look on her own face, watched the look on Harry and Sirius and Ron and George and almost everyone she'd ever known. War brought guilt like that, battle grounds brought that expression upon a person's face and she concluded that she was not going to bring it all up for him today, not when he was quite obviously tired and worn out by something.

"Nothing, I'm sure it's just me. Just a thought, if Merlin himself were still alive, and there were still witches and warlocks – just watered down versions – would they feel something? Would they be able to tell that they were in the presence of the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived? The one who started it all, who would have made living in peace possible?" she wondered, not sure why she had asked such a question. It wasn't as though he'd know the answer to it any better than she would.

"That would depend on whether he would be trying to hide. He is Emrys after all, thousands of years old Hermione, cleverest person on the planet, most powerful man who ever lived; you think he'd let himself be found if he didn't want to be?" he replied, giving a surprisingly logical answer to such a strange question. Any normal Muggle would have looked at her as though she'd need to be sectioned.

"And what would happen? If the time were to come when Arthur awoke and Merlin went to him? Would they automatically be taken back to their own time?" she added, her brain just going 'what the hell? Why not?' and not filtering anything.

"I suppose so yes, the Legend says 'Arthur Pendragon shall return when Albion needs him most' I guess it would be on a different time scale when things are particularly messy in the land of Albion in the seventh century and they're needed as somewhat of a double act again," Merlin said thoughtfully, beginning to glance at her like she was unravelling something and he was suspicious of it.

"Hmm... interesting. You know, this has been nice... it's rare that I talk to anyone outside of lessons anymore," she sighed, smiling at him again because the gloomy direction of their conversation was not going where it should for such a late hour in the afternoon.

"Yes it has been, we should definitely do it more often," he grinned back at her, happy Merlin back as though he had never left. For some reason, his words from earlier echoed in her mind ' _you think he'd let himself be found if he didn't want to be?_ ' maybe the Merlin in front of her just didn't want to be found.

"Where will you go now?" she asked as they began to pack up, putting their bags on their shoulders and standing up.

"There's a place I like to go for a couple of hours now and again, just to clear my thoughts; I'm going to go and sit there for a while," he said, lifting the corner of his mouth in an attempt at convincing her something wasn't bothering him. She nodded, wondering for a second whether she should do what she wanted to or not.

Eventually, she pushed up quick on her tiptoes and pressed a fast peck to his defined cheekbone, blushing furiously and turning to walk out of the shop by herself. She stopped hesitantly at the doorway and turned to look at him.

"No way," she shook her head "there's no way you're – never mind. I'll see you tomorrow," she brushed it off, flashing him a final look before leaving properly.

She didn't know that Merlin would go and sit where the source of everything he lived for located and not move until halfway through the night until he just could not stand sitting anymore.

Three thousand years and he was still waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we get to see a Harry/Hermione dynamic in this one, yay. I'm sorry, sometimes elements of that ship slip into my writing, I can't help it. But they won't have any romantic encounters as a couple in this story, so don't worry.
> 
> Cheesy sort-of-songfic-scene. I'm sorry, I've been listening to Of Monsters and Men for ages now, and King and Lionheart inspired this story so I had to put it in somewhere. 
> 
> Also, Hermione's onto Merlin, and not in a sexy way.

It was raining again. Not the heavy kind of rain that hurt your whole body and made everything ache; just the light, misty kind of rain that carried in the air and soaked through your clothes remarkably fast. It was disturbing the surface of the lake, but not creating waves; just tiny quivers and dots that stretched out all the way across the water.

Merlin sat on the bank, legs and knees pointed up towards the sky, hood up, hands delved deep in his pockets. Every night he came here now, every night he sat on the river bank, trees sheltering him a little, mud getting through his jeans and the weak parts of the souls on his boots.

He never said anything, he never moved from that spot, but he always walked away feeling both weightless, and disappointed. He didn't know what he was waiting for anymore – well, actually, he did – but he didn't know what had to happen for him to regain what he was waiting for. He didn't get what could go so wrong, what could be so bad, that it would physically awaken Arthur Pendragon from the dead after thousands of years.

Maybe it was going to happen like he had answered Hermione's question in the coffee shop. Maybe something would happen in the past, on a different timeline that would push through a barrier in the universe and cause Arthur to randomly stick his hand out of the water and pop up all wet and confused. Maybe, once Merlin had pulled Arthur to the land, they would be transported back in time to become their former selves again, and stop whatever was attacking Albion so bad that it would need a dead king from the underworld. He didn't know.

For all the information he had on the matter, he could even be waiting another million years for something to occur, for his old friend to rise again.

But he would wait, he would wait forever if he had to. He'd always been quite a patient person, and even if he hadn't, he'd have developed much more of an aptitude for allowing things to run their course over the years of staying in the same place.

When it got to half one in the morning, he let out a sigh of exhaustion and stood up numbly and ungracefully, waiting for the blood to run back through his legs before stumbling back up to the main road. Every night, he followed it back to the city and thus his apartment.

"Freaking clotpole," he huffed before swallowing his despair, and heading home to bed.

* * *

"Hermione, I'm being serious, you need to get out more," Harry urged as she waited for the kettle to boil in her small student flat, rolling her eyes and nodding at him.

"I know, I'm trying... I met a new person the other day," she said, adding in something she knew would satisfy her friend for the moment.

"Really? Who?" he asked, suddenly very interested. She tutted, handing him his cup of tea over the kitchen counter and jumping up on her stool opposite him.

"His name's Merlin," she said hesitantly, glaring at Harry when he burst out laughing, but was unable to keep the small, reluctant smirk on her mouth, allowing herself to see the irony.

"What? I think it's a lovely name; he's in my Arthurian Legends lecture," she pouted.

"Where his parents evil or something? It's just... I'm sorry, but who the hell studies Arthurian Legends when his name is Merlin? Is he a Muggle?" Harry asked and she frowned at the last question, gnawing on her bottom lip again.

"Undetermined; I can't exactly just come out and ask him whether he's a wizard or not, I haven't seen him carrying a wand or anything but... there's something there, something about him that's not quite... Muggle," she said, more to herself than Harry.

"Wouldn't you have felt it? I taught you to attune your senses myself Hermione, I know you'd know straight away," he said, furrowing his brow.

"It's not as simple as that... It's more of a hunch. I think he's occluding me, and everyone else. I mean, presuming that he is of magical talent, he'd have to be pretty fucking powerful to actually hide his aura, and you can't tell me it's a just a coincidence that his name is Merlin, and I'm drawn to him," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, looking at him, waiting for his opinion.

"I don't know Hermione, maybe his parents are just mythy, legendy type people. Did he say anything about them?" he asked, taking her a little more seriously now.

"He said his father was... um 'involved' with the legend scene, like it was more than just a case of being enthusiastic about it. He said his mother wasn't too into it though. It was strange the way he talked about them though, like he hadn't seen them in a really, really long time. It's all so vague. I like him as a person though, he's nice and irritatingly intriguing," she added, reminding herself that Merlin was not just a project and that she actually cared about him now they'd been seeing a little more of each other.

"Oh well that's settled then, if he's intrigued you then there's no chance of you leaving the poor guy alone, is there?" Harry remarked and she narrowed her eyes at him playfully, slapping his arm.

"I'm not that bad," she argued in mock offence.

"Are you seeing him tomorrow?"

"Shut up"

* * *

"Hermione," the bar manager called through the microphone and she smiled at a confused looking Merlin, putting her drink down on the table and taking a guitar of the guy sitting by the stage. She settled herself in place, looking very nervous and apprehensive.

"Uhh, so this is for someone who I know is hurting and even though they're not letting anything on, I hope they like it," she said in a slightly shaky voice. She shifted on the stool to get more comfortable, adjusting the mic in it's stand. Slowly, she began to play.

"Taking over this town, they should worry. But these problems aside, I think I taught you well. And we won't run, we won't run, we won't run," she started, her voice soft and gentle, strong English accent coming through, eyes closed, music taking over her body as she strummed expertly on the strings. Merlin felt his chest contract painfully when her foot began tapping hard on the wooden floor, adding a beat.

"And in the winter night sky ships are sailing, looking down on these bright blue city lights. And they won't wait, and they won't wait, and they won't wait; we're here to stay, we're here to stay, we're here to stay," she sang. She had a good voice, it was stunning in an imperfect way, she looked at peace, comfortable and at home with her body moulded into the instrument, sure of herself and appearing to mean every word.

"Howling ghosts they reappear, in mountains that are stacked with fear, but you're a king and I'm a lionheart. A lionheart," her fingers slowed slightly through the chorus, before speeding up a little again, eyes open now, glazed over, tearing up as she looked directly at him.

He could feel a lump of emotion in his throat, choking him a bit, stinging his own tearducts.

"His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly, past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind. Though far away, though far away, though far away; we're still the same, we're still the same, we're still the same," a small smile pushed up the corners of her full mouth.

The song and demeanour was perfect for a student bar; her hair was loosely pulled up in a ponytail, waves escaping to frame her face. She wore a simple black vest with a silhouette of the band Queen on the front and frayed denim mini shorts with high top green converses; the song was indie sounding and flowed easily, softly, breathtaking. Not a single sound echoed through the room apart from the guitar and her voice.

"Howling ghost they reappear, In mountains that are stacked with fear, but you're a king and I'm a lionheart. And in the sea that's painted black, creatures lurk below the deck, but you're the king and I'm a lionheart," he felt a tear drip from his right eye without him having to even blink, then his left one. He didn't bother wiping it away; besides he was sort of numb and images flashed through his mind, a million different laughs and shoves and shouts and memories all at once. For the first time in a long time, he could feel it all again, he could remember.

"And as the world comes to an end, I'll be here to hold your hand, cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart. A lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart. Howling ghost they reappear, in mountains that are stacked with fear, but you're a king and I'm a lionheart. And in the sea that's painted black, creatures lurk below the deck, but you're the king and I'm a lionheart. A lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart, a lionheart."

He had to catch himself to remind himself to breathe for a few seconds once she'd finished, to shake himself awake again in a way, to pull himself back to reality. It had been  _so_ long. Too long.

She jumped down the steps, handing the guy his guitar back and running up to Merlin. In one swift movement, she had wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, fingers stroking the back of his hair. It took him a moment, but slowly, instinctively, his own arms threaded around her waist and before he could stop himself, he was desperately burying his face in her shoulder, pulling her closer.

She understood, she got it. He didn't need to tell her about his past, he didn't need to give some sort of elaborate explanation of how he was nearly three thousand years old and the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth. He didn't need to explain about how he was still waiting for Arthur, for everything to come back.

Hermione – and he was guessing he was privileged in this case – didn't need to know, she just understood.

"C'mon then, I think we need more drinks," she smiled, pulling away a little before stepping back completely and taking his hand, dragging him through the crowd to the bar.

"We're going to have fun," she said, ordering two pints of apple cider "and we don't have to worry about whatever secret you're keeping tonight, we're just going to be two normal friends getting very drunk and dancing too much," she added, usual bossy attitude coming through. He couldn't help the laugh escaping through his lips, doing as he was told and taking the drink that was thrust at him.

"You're crazy," he sighed and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Excuse me, have you looked at yourself lately?" she teased, poking him in the ribs, nearly making him spill his pint.

"Right, fair point. Alright then, drink up, you wanted me to dance. Be careful what you wish for," he breathed, feeling slightly elated and a little light headed. He had already had at least for bottles of Strongbow, so he couldn't really be called too much of a lightweight.

He missed this, having a more frequent friend, someone he could talk to about things that interested him, someone to laugh with until his whole diaphragm hurt, someone to remind him of who he really was.

"Let's daaaaannnccee!" she grinned, downing the rest of her drink gesturing for him to follow her out onto the dance-floor. They were ridiculous, crazy, none of them had any idea what they were doing with their limbs; but he really was having fun, which was something that didn't happen very often, so he treasured it.

* * *

She tripped slightly but caught herself on a tree, gripping tightly to catch her balance again. High topped brogues, high waisted mini shorts and a blazer was not an ideal outfit for going out on a walk to a random forest; but she needed to clear her head.

It had been a long time since she'd had a nightmare as graphic as the one the previous night had brought her. The same as her old ones, she had been back in the drawing room in Malfoy manor with Lestrange whispering poisonous words in her ear, hair ticking her nose, knife cutting jagged letters into her arm. She had woken fast, covered in sweat and tears, shaking violently. After staying awake afterwards, she'd eventually hauled herself out of bed at six in the morning and thrown on some clothes, simply just running from her student apartment and down the road, as fast as she could, to anywhere.

It was only when she stopped to catch her breath that she'd found herself on a long road between a hill, and a forest leading to the bank of a lake. She supposed that was her destination, so she was just sort of stumbling in that direction. It was cold and damp and her breath wound in patterns, condensing through the air, but it had sort of numbed her after a while, and by the time she moved out onto the ground by the water, she couldn't feel it much.

What she could feel however is the strongest sense memory she'd ever experienced, like the place was radiating with whispers of magic and energy; a nostalgic, painful, sad type of energy. Something had happened here for sure, something... well, legendary. It was the only explanation for the fact that she was genuinely tearing up for reasons she couldn't fathom.

"What the hell happened here?" she whispered to herself, frowning and crouching athletically, hunting mode taking over as she examined the ground. There were tracks, now she was paying attention, following back along the very path she had taken, tracks that didn't just belong to her. And a dip in the ground where she was sure someone had sat. She narrowed her eyes in thought, reaching out and dragging her fingers softly over it, closing her eyes and opening her mind.

She couldn't pick up a scent, or any type of magical person's residue, but there was another thing hanging in the air; a sense of a long suffering emotion. Someone came here to mourn.

Or wait.

It was only when she looked up and back out across the water that it clicked in her mind. The ruins of a tower, tall and thin surrounded by water and a lush green hill that looked to be full of life even in the middle of moggy dark and gloomy England.

"Avalon" she breathed in wonder, remembering the rumours, words she'd merely skimmed across in books, and what it meant, what it was to the world and to stories and to Legend.

"No way" the words escaped her lips, barely even a whisper as she pushed slowly back up to full height, transfixed by her surroundings.

"Impossible" she was almost breathless with the realisation, shaking her head.

Impossible or not, it was real.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revelations!
> 
> And also cliffhanger... sort of.

"Right, that's it, something's going on around here," Hermione sighed, bursting through the door of the common room in their university. She went straight to the corner she and Merlin now sat at together, throwing herself down on the sofa and rolling her head back, staring at the ceiling. She huffed out in irritation, running her hands through her hair.

"What's the problem?" he inquired, lifting his attention from the essay he was writing in the armchair opposite and looking at her, frowning.

"I went for a walk at about six this morning and-"

"Woah, why were you out walking at six this morning?" he exclaimed, putting his pen down and paying her is full interest.

"Just- I just had a nightmare, but that's not relevant. I was going for a walk, and I got to this forest by this lake, and I could have sworn-" she cut herself off this time, remembering that she was still bound to the international statue of secrecy and that she couldn't add in the part about what she had felt through her magical senses.

"I looked at the landscape for ages and then I realised that I'd never been there before, and I really paid attention and... Merlin, I think – I think I might have found Avalon," she breathed incredulously as though she couldn't even believe the words coming out of her own mouth.

Merlin felt his heart speed up immediately, and his thoughts hit a wall for a second. He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible when he answered and kept his hands firmly in place in his lap so as not to give anything away. She couldn't find out, not after so long of his keeping the secret, too much relied on it.

"Hermione, you know that's impossible-"

"I know! I know it is, but it's just like it is in the books; the tall tower, thin and everything I've ever read about it pinpoints it in this area!" she ranted, sitting up from her laying position and leaning her elbows on her knees, resting her head in her hands, dragging her fingers through her wavy hair.

"There's a reason this place is called legendary Mione, and that's because it's not real-"

"But what if it was? What if it was all real, if it all really actually happened? What if there were still Warlocks, Wizards and Witches that still lived among the rest of the world? What if they still existed but just blended in with Muggles-" she cut herself off mid sentence again, gasping and clapping her hand to her mouth hard, looking directly at Merlin. His eyes widened, mouth dropping open as he rose from his chair, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of her, reaching out to take her arms and move them away from her face.

"What did you just say?" he breathed, eyes searching her face, shocked, studious, captivated.

"I – I didn't – I didn't say anything-"

"You said Muggles," he asserted, clutching her arms tighter now, but not enough to hurt, catching her line of vision and holding it as though he had complete compulsion over it all of a sudden.

"No-"

"Yes you did, you're a witch, aren't you?" he asked quietly, heart beating wild now, breath coming out laboured. She grimaced slightly but made no further effort to deny it.

"How do you know?" she managed to cough and he blinked, letting go of her arms, but staying close.

"I – It's sort of... complicated. Uhh... look, I know what you're talking about with Avalon, but you're going to have to wait for me at the end of the day so we can go there; we need... we can't talk here" he struggled, adams apple moving as he attempted to swallow his panic. Was he really going to have to tell her everything?

What would she think of him? He didn't want her to look at him differently, he didn't want her to treat him differently.

"Hey, shh, I – I won't tell anyone, okay? I know – I know there are laws for you, you have some sort of ministerial system that stops you from telling everyone, and I'm not going to out you Hermione, I swear," he said, seeing that she was getting a little overwhelmed by the sudden change in the atmosphere between them.

He considered lifting the concealer spell that stopped other witches and warlocks from detecting him so she could feel the full force of his magical aura, but decided against it almost immediately, knowing she'd probably have some sort of a nervous break down if he let her in on everything at once.

But maybe he was underestimating her, not giving her enough credit. Occasionally he crossed through Diagon Alley, scanned the stray papers and studied some of the culture, watched what the sorcery community had become, how it had both grown and deteriorated. He found it fascinating how they had all managed to somehow develop their own places in the world, how they even had their own banking and government legislations. He especially enjoyed their ability to incorporate 'Muggle' technology into their lives.

The thing he was most worried about with Hermione finding out however, is how she'd take it when she realised his power and how he never used it during the recent wizarding war. He didn't know for sure if she had fought in it; hell, he had only just found out that she was a witch.

But he could see what she'd been through in her adolescence just by looking at her, and he wasn't stupid, he had seen the fading jagged letters carved into the skin on her forearm. He didn't know what the word 'mudblood' meant but he didn't think it was a good word.

"C'mon, I'll walk you to your English Lit class," he said when he had achieved some sort of composure, picking up his bag and standing up, holding a hand out to her.

"Look, I promise I'll explain everything this afternoon, but I need you to stay calm in the mean time. Just... trust me, okay?" he proposed, relaxing a little when she hesitantly took the hand he was offering and pulled herself to her feet.

"Merlin..." she said as he shot her a weak smile and began to walk, assuming she would follow.

"Yeah?" he asked, turning around, looking panicked again.

"Please don't look at me differently now," she said in a quiet, desperate voice. He blinked again slowly and let out a breath of relief, smiling properly and shaking his head.

"Never," he said strongly, solidly, firmly, walking back to her and taking her hand again, tighter this time.

"We've got more in common than you think. Now, come on, let's go"

"Do I have to go to class? Can't I just bunk off and go to the lake now?" she tried and he shook his head again.

"I can't believe Hermione Granger genuinely just asked me if it was okay for her to skip a class. No way, you're not failing exams because I've neglected to tell you about who I am. Move," he demanded, pulling her from the room, ignoring her whining and protesting as they went.

* * *

"You texted me to meet you here, right?" Hermione said, disturbing Merlin from his train of thought as he flinched, whipping around to face her.

"Right, yes, sorry"

"Well..." she said expectantly and he sighed, dropping his shoulders and putting his hands in his pockets, looking out at the water again.

"I – and I can't believe I'm saying this again – but I honestly don't know where to start," he shrugged, eyes different to how they normally was as she watched him in this new environment, looking out on the lake.

"Well who are you to start off with?" she demanded. Since the morning, she seemed to have thought about things and developed some sort of formal disposition. She had regained her pride and was ready to oppose him to get the facts she deserved. Yes, this was the Hermione Granger he had come to know and care about.

"I'm Merlin; I'm your friend, that's the same, that hasn't changed," he insisted but she held up her hand.

"I know that. I want to know where you're from, about your father, why you tried to tell me this place didn't exist when it obviously does and frankly, why the hell do I feel this strange aura thing around you that I can't pinpoint?" she said and he knew she was actually resisting the urge to stamp her foot and pout.

"I was originally from a town called Ealdor that I don't think even exists anymore. My mother sent me away when I was about seventeen because she was frightened news of my gifts would get out," he began. He didn't need to tell her the whole story all over again, he'd pretty much said everything in the coffee shop the day after they had first met, he just had to find a way of wording carefully what he was going to say about who he really was.

"Ealdor; I've heard that name before. What was your mother called?" she asked. This was the part she would find out. Hermione was exceptionally, remarkably, almost scarily clever; once he had told her his mother's name, she would be able to put it all together within seconds.

"Hermione-"

"Merlin will you please just – just stop beating around the bush. Just tell me" she interrupted his attempt at reasoning with her.

"My mother's name was Hunith. She sent me to be the ward of Gius, court physician in-"

"In Camelot," she gasped, eyes widening, breathing quickening within a split second, hand clasping over her mouth like it had done that morning, brow knitting together in shock.

"No way," she breathed, shaking her head slowly, numbly. He was still stood still as stone staring along the horizon. If he spoke before she asked him another question, he was sure he'd get a right hook across his jaw and she had told him the story about when the boy called Malfoy had pushed her too far. She was patient and logical, but stretch Hermione Granger to a certain point and she would snap and unleash the full force of her temper.

"But then that means that- holy shit that means you're the most powerful sorcerer in the world! That's why you've been able to occlude me. I didn't understand the pull, I'm a match for Snape when it comes to concealer enchantments and occlumency; but you, I couldn't push through. Now I feel like a complete and utter idiot!" she said, mostly to herself. He was certain that she wanted to punch herself more than him actually.

"No, you shouldn't feel like that at all Hermione, I wasn't paying attention, if I hadn't been so distracted with all this," he gestured out at the lake with his arm "then I would have realised that you're a witch and I could have lifted the concealer enchantment sooner," he promised her, still not moving from where he was stood, hands still in his pockets. It began to spit with that misty rain again but it didn't seem to effect either one of them.

"Well, what is all 'this'?" she flopped her arm out in the same direction, apparently mentally thawed; she didn't seem to be as angry or worked up as he had expected her to be.

"I don't know how to explain it without sounding like a lovesick puppy," he said in a quiet voice, suddenly feeling a lot more vulnerable. In all the years of waiting, he hadn't had a direct discussion with anyone about the Arthur  _he_  knew,  _his_  King. Not the ridiculously overly-British legendy one he learned about in class.

"Merlin, you haven't been waiting for three thousand years... have you?" she uttered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her take a step closer to him and she reached out a hand to take his arm softly and move him so that he was facing her.

"Please tell me you didn't put yourself through that," she said almost desperately, eyes filling with tears.

"It wouldn't be legendary if I didn't"

She took his face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his.

"God! You stupid, wonderful, impossible man. All these years and you never told anyone, you never left, you just... waited," she half-sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. He let out at tired breath, embracing her in return, closing his eyes for a second to try and process everything.

"What was that?" Hermione flinched against him, moving back slightly and turning her head. She let go, stepping away and looking around everywhere for something.

"What?" he said, confused, watching her move.

"I heard something-" but she was stopped when a splash was heard from the water. His heart jumped through his throat and wrapped itself around his neck, he was sure of it.

"Can you see that?" she asked, barely audible.

He didn't answer her, he was too busy pulling his jacket off and wading into the water. Within seconds she had joined him and they were swimming furiously out to the figure the could see just slightly disturbing the surface.

The water was freezing cold and it was still raining. The wind was picking up now and it was sharp and unforgiving against their faces as they struggled to swim faster.

Merlin almost choked when his eyes rested on a piece of red fabric and the glint of a sword just peeking above the lake about three yards in front of him. It was incredible, it was impossible. There was no way it was happening.

Yet his limbs shot outward to grab the fabric of their own accord, pulling him forward the last couple of inches. Hermione grabbed another piece and together, they pulled Arthur Pendragon from the icy depths of the lake of Avalon.


	4. Chapter 4

The three of them collapsed, soaking with water, coughing and spluttering on the bank of the lake. Hermione was still attempting to get her breath back by the time Merlin was dragging Arthur backward, leaning him up against the tree. Despite the cold, Merlin's hands were steady as he frantically rushed to check the king over and make sure he was unharmed.

“St-stop. Hey, M-Mer-Merlin, stoppit! St-stop fussing, m'okay” he slurred, eyes half lidded, body limp and heavy. He was dressed in chainmail and armour covered with red fabric embroidered with a golden dragon.

He looked young, strong with charming features, creamy skin, blonde hair and cool blue eyes. Just like Merlin had described in his story and nothing like books and drawings depicted the legendary King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot.

She struggled to find the strength to push herself up on her hands and knees, but eventually got there, crawling up against a neighbouring tree to rest.

It was as though being in the water had put a strain on her magical DNA, like the power that normally flowed through her veins had weakened slightly. It had happened before when she'd overworked herself, it only took a couple of days rest and sleep to restore full aptitude; but this was strange. She had only been swimming.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed. She watched in fascination as the exhausted man gently caught Merlin's arm to prevent him from looking for signs of injury.

“Arthur,” he replied. Normal ears would not have been able to pick up the sound but suddenly, Arthur had grabbed Merlin with surprising power and pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, face completely buried in his shoulder. The two men simply sat there for at least a minute, just getting the lack of contact out of their system, remembering each other, taking each other in.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, voice muffled.

“Hmm?” he answered.

“What the bloody hell are you wearing?”

* * *

“Merlin, are you sure this is a good idea?” Hermione said apprehensively whilst Arthur attempted to read the words on her phone upside down and proceeded to begin poking the screen, a confused look on his face.

“Yeah sure, he's not a simpleton, he's got this,” Merlin said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders “although there was the time when I had to spell his will away...”

“Shut up, we don't talk about that... or that outfit you put me in,” Arthur snapped. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him and nodded with a sigh, standing up and walking over to Arthur, crouching in front of him athletically.

“Uhhh... Arthur, you... do you want to go for dinner and the library?” she asked, unsure of how to address him properly.

“Merlin, who's this and why is she looking at me like I'm an alien?” Arthur remarked, eyeing Hermione up and down with interest. She blushed under the scrutiny a little, but remained composed.

“Arthur, it's the year 2012, things have changed a little bit. Hermione only sees people dressed the way you are in story books,” Merlin said, getting a glare from his old friend before he turned his attention to Hermione again.

“ _She's_ barely dressed. To they let women walk around like this?... I sort of like it,” Arthur smirked, getting an involuntary laugh from Hermione who rolled her eyes to the ceiling and bit down on her lip to contain her amusement. He was being rather objectifying, she ought to throw an insult at him or something; but she couldn't help it, Arthur Pendragon was checking her out.

“I need a horse to ride into town on; it should take about half a day, but I want to see how much things have 'changed'. Seriously though Merlin, don't tell me  _I_ have to wear that?” he said and Hermione smiled almost fondly. So it was sort of adorable that the legendary King Arthur was completely at loss as to the conventions of modern day society.

“Uhhh... we don't use horses much anymore mate, it's cars now,” Merlin replied, also trying his best not to burst out into laughter and the King's obliviousness.

“What's a car? I don't like this, it's too different. How long is it going to take you to get us back? And also, you're due for a long telling off about that bloody magic of yours, I was sort of otherwise engaged when I found out and I'm still trying to process it,” he added, pointing at Merlin.

“A car is like a steel metal container with wheels that carry people to and from places faster than horses,” Hermione explained, capturing Arthur's low attention span again.

“Can you... navigate one of these things? I feel very violated right now... and I mean it you, we.... uhh... we need to talk about... things,” Arthur said, eyes flickering hesitantly back over to Merlin who blushed scarlet and began ruffling his own hair and biting his lip.

“Right... yes... I know-”

“Oh for fuck sake, you guys can have make up sex later on; we have more important things to deal with right now; like how the hell you're getting back to your own time,” Hermione cut him off. Arthur's jaw dropped open before closing again and he looked at her as though she'd just stripped naked and done the cancan.

“Women of the new age are extremely outspoken and scantily dressed, really Merlin, how do you deal with all this?” he said, completely taken aback.

“Lord knows,” he muttered and Hermione threw a cushion at him, narrowing her eyes.

“OI!” she scolded, earning a smirk from Arthur.

“Not that it's a bad thing of course, she seems to be good at keeping you in order,” Arthur grinned, feigning innocence when Merlin pouted at the both of them like they were children ganging up on him in a playground.

“You have no idea,” he sighed, chucking a zip up hoodie, t-shirt and jeans at Arthur, gesturing at him to put them on.

“What's this?” he frowned and Hermione smiled again, holding up the t-shirt.

“It's your clothes. We need to go to the library and you need to blend in,” she said, pushing back up to full height and fanning her face with her hand, pulling her leather jacket from her shoulders and throwing it over the sofa.

“You can't tell me what to do, I'm King,” he snapped and she chuckled, nodding.

“Maybe so, but I'm the cleverest witch of my age, so if you don't get dressed, I'm going to undress you with a click of my fingers and stand here staring at your dick until you cover yourself up”

* * *

“Arthur, shut up! You can't wear armour and chainmail in 2012!” Merlin hissed, slapping Arthur's hand away from where he was fussing with the t-shirt he had on.

“John will you be quiet it is perfectly acceptable for me to stand on a chair and calculate the distance between the toilet and this bookshelf in public, no one's complaining!” a strong, deep well rounded English accent cut through Merlin's attention, diverting it from his whining friend, to a bookcase nearby.

“You there, witch, you look clever, come here,” the voice said and Merlin's mouth dropped open, eyebrows hitting the top of his head. He moved immediately, going to stand next to Hermione, looking up at the man suspended up higher by one of the library chairs.

“Excuse me, without sounding rude; who the hell do you think you are, ordering her about?” Merlin said, with every intention of being out of line. Who the hell did this long coated prick think he was?

“Right, sorry mate; long day, he's a bit worked up,” another shorter man said from behind the guy, looking embarrassed and apologetic.

“That's nice, but you're not the one being insolent and high almighty. Excuse me, yoohoo, pretty boy, you owe my friend an apology,” Merlin said. Hermione pursed her lips and bowed her head slightly to hide her amusement at the man's returning expression. Whoever this was, he obviously was not used to being called up much on his attitude. Or maybe he was, and just found it surprising that acting like a douche to strangers wasn't a social norm.

“John, what am I supposed to say?” the man whispered, arching one eyebrow and lowering the other in confusion, not taking his eyes of Merlin.

“For gods sake Sherlock just say sorry,” John snapped, looking irritated and fed up.

“Right then, I apologise. Miss witch, will you please come here so I can judge the height of the bookcase with the top of your skull? You're taller than John... but then again, everyone is taller than John,” the man said.

“Is no one going to comment on the fact that he called me a witch?”

“That's because you are one”

“How-”

“The wand poking out the top of your boot slightly,” he said “not to mention the fact that I can smell the nightmare vine on you. Dreamless sleep potion is very difficult to make from scratch that's how I knew you were clever, and you have a smudge of cauldron dust on your left earlobe tells me that you did in fact brew your own batch.

Nightmares then, I'm guessing a war-witch fresh from the recent battle, two or three years to be exact. And you have brown, curly hair, brown eyes and an imposing posture; I'd say that I am in the presence of the famous Miss Hermione Granger, but of course, I could be mistaken”

Hermione frowned at him for a few seconds before her mouth twisted into an impressed smile and she folded her arms over her chest, looking back and forth from John, to her conversationalist.

“Well then, of course, I’d have to assume that I am talking to the one and only Sherlock Holmes”

John's eyebrows hit the top of his head as his eyes darted down to the hilt of her wand poking out the top of her leather boot.

“Sherlock, remember you can't say things like that out loud, she's under that law thing that says she can't flaunt her magic; this guy with her could be a muggle”

“But he's not, he's a three thousand year old warlock legend,” Sherlock drawled, gesturing for Hermione to move. Surprisingly, she did so without argument and allowed him to do his 'judging' "o kay, phone Lestrade then, let him know his killer is the ginger midget. Thank you Miss Granger – oh and look here John, this is Arthur Pendragon,” Sherlock grinned patronizingly, jumping down from where he was stood and getting right up in Arthur's face, circling him as though he could be examining a historical artefact.

“What – you're telling me – you're telling me that is freaking King Arthur? Bloody hell Sherlock, c'mon, I think you've had enough crime solving today. Sorry about all this Miss- uh – Granger. He's still recovering from um – well, from fatigue. Went away for a couple of months, spent too long in isolation, still a bit not right in the head,” John said, looking annoyed and flustered as he pulled Sherlock away from them and back out of the double doors of the library, ignoring all his protests that he was simply fascinated by such a specimen.

“Come on Arthur, I think Hermione's got the books we need now, right? Let's sit”

“How many times am I going to have to remind you that I am the King and you are the manservant and that you don't tell me what to do?”

“At least a dozen more,” Merlin said under his breath, putting his hands on Arthur's shoulders and turning him back to the table where their bags were, helping Hermione lift the books she'd gathered.

“Okay, so obviously because it's a Muggle library, there isn't a lot on how to send the most legendary double act in history, back to the seventh century. But for the moment, I think these are going to be of most use to us. Arthur, can you read New English or...”

“Probably best for him to stick to the ones written in the old language,” Merlin intercepted, nodding as she passed him a very large, very old brown leather bound book, smiling at him despite his look of extreme lack of enthusiasm.

“When it's the weekend, I'll take you up to my old wizarding school and I'll pass it with the headmistress so we can look through the library in there. We can go see some of the professors as well, there are a few whom I know will have some sort of information for you,” she said, setting out at least ten books across the wooden table and Merlin nodded once, grateful but passive. She knew he had other things on his mind as well.  They spent the rest of the day going through every single book that had any trace of old magic written within it. Through history, magical authors tended to accidentally lose their editions amongst Muggle literature and so a lot of the texts and themes became muddled and ended up in backstreet or small town Muggle libraries and book shops, passing for random ramblings of old codgers who were mistaking children's stories with reality and facts.

Arthur was scanning through the books in Olde English quite fast, much to Hermione's surprise. She knew the King wasn't dumb, but she'd not expected him to be quite as studious. Apparently he wanted to get back to his own time more than she had originally observed.  They were looking for so long in fact, that they forgot that they were even in the same room, let alone in the middle of a public library. It was only when the keeper came in to tell them that lock up was in fifteen minutes, that Hermione glanced up to see Arthur snoring on the table, head leaning on Merlin's left arm as he used the right one to turn the pages.

“He's tired,” she croaked, voice quiet from lack of use and he drew in a deep, rattly breath, nodding.

“Well, he has been dead for three thousand years, that's bound to take it out of him,” Merlin shrugged, face quite expressionless as he closed the book and nudged Arthur awake "c ome on Sire, we need to leave, it's getting dark,” Merlin said quietly and softly. Apparently he was somewhat of an expert in dealing with the stubborn, half awake and fragile looking young King. She was surprised when he addressed him by his royalty, but guessed that it was simply a force of habit and couldn't help her small smile as he pushed the books into a pile in the middle of the table and took Arthur by the arm, helping him to his feet.

“I wish I could levitate him or something, but I'm not a big fan of going to jail,” she sighed, taking Arthur's other arm firmly and helping him to walk.

“I didn't realise he was this tired,” she added, but gave up when it was clear Merlin was not in the state of mind for idle conversation.  There was silence as she called for a taxi at the side of the road. Merlin wordlessly allowed her to support Arthur's weight as he covered him with his hoodie against the rain, and helped her slowly move him into the car.

“Student flats outside the University please,” Hermione said with the required quirk of her mouth once she had closed the back door and slipped into the front passenger seat. The driver nodded once, starting the car quickly.  Every few minutes, she would turn her head ever so slightly to see the men in the back seat. By the third time, they did not resemble men at all, but boys who were simply exhausted with the trials and suffering their long lives had brought them. Two boys who loved each other deeply, scarily. It was almost intimidating actually, and for a second, their love frightened her. But then she remembered the way she felt about Harry, and the way he felt about her.

And she knew, with a thud of her heart, in a soundless car where no one was doing much but thinking, that she too would have sat by a lakeside for three thousand years if it meant she would have the chance of seeing his face one more time.

* * *

Merlin's flat was dark and warm at three in the morning when she normally woke, either from a nightmare or from the simple fact that her body was on that routinised unconscious alarm clock.

She could sort of make out the shapes of things around her as she moved through the living room into the kitchen, turning the lamp on in the corner so that she didn't wake Arthur on the sofa.  She turned the kettle on and put a silencing charm on it, hugging herself tighter in her overly large Quidditch jumper that she'd stolen from Harry's wardrobe to wear through those lonely nights when she had first moved to this new city.  She yawned widely, blinking away the wetness it left in her eyes. Things were very blurry and restless. There was a feeling of confusion and unsaid words in the air. She was hurting inside... well, actually, it was more of a dread.

She had been quite lonely for a long time. Recovering from the war had been hard, possibly even worse when she had subjected herself to completing such a task alone. She met up with Cassie sometimes, and Harry popped around to see her whenever he could get time off work or supporting Ginny and his newborn son James. But her therapist had told her that Post Traumatic Stress Disorder would have the effect of social dysfunction for her.  Merlin had been her first proper escape from that, he'd been someone who she could relate to, but also someone new who she knew nothing about. She hadn't had to pretend to be happy with him, she didn't need to explain herself or stutter a stupid line of incoherency about why she was randomly crying or snapping or smiling genuinely and widely. He had just accepted her.

And now he was leaving. She couldn't stop him, she wasn't that selfish. He had suffered more than she could ever imagine, he'd seen things that she'd never seen, felt things that she had never felt and been alone with his thoughts for longer than should ever be allowed. He deserved to get his happiness back, to be with the person that made him complete, to see all his true friends and family again.

So she was doing the only thing she could think to do, she was helping him. She was helping Arthur.

She sighed, closing her eyes and pushing away the pain niggling at the pit of her gut, moving forward and leaning over the counter, unable to help the broken, gentle smile creeping along her mouth as she laid eyes on Merlin wrapped around Arthur, a blanket loosely draped over them. It looked as though they had been too tired to even change into night clothes – or none at all – and had just collapsed and passed out. She missed that more than anything. Falling asleep with the person she was in love with, feeling that incredible warmth, that heat, that soft tickle of skin against her own, the simple connection of body against body.

Ron hadn't always been particularly affectionate, and tended to be more about his own pleasure than anything. Sweet, but too blundered and immature. She did used to love the feeling of just falling asleep in his arms though; safe, secure, invincible.  She almost began giggling about how freaking oblivious the two were to their feelings for each other. It could never be a public relationship for them though. If they were to go back to their own time, they could never be together and out to the whole of their city. Homosexuality was punishable by death in those days.

Although, Arthur seemed to be one to change and bend laws if he saw any type of potential, if he thought at least one person would believe in his decision, then he would make it. And he was the King after all, as he frequently reminded her; if he really wanted, he could raise the ban on homosexuality.  She turned back to make her cup of tea, still tired and numb and wondering what crazy shenanigans the next day would bring.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione pressed the button that sounded the bell for last orders and smiled, handing her apron to her colleague and leaving the counter to go through the back and re-stock. She always did that. Just before the cafe was about to close, she rang for the final orders of the night, let her friend take them and make them, and then she would go around the back of the store and make sure everything was readied for the following morning. There was still a good half-hour before they needed to lock up and the chatter of the last few tables of late night walkers and wanderers could be heard throughout the shop, the soft playing of an indie radio station wafting from the radio into every room.

She enjoyed her job. It allowed her just the right amount of work and ensured that she earned what she was paid. In reality, she had over a million galleons in her wizarding bank account that she could simply convert into Muggle money and use if she wanted to. But she didn't. Hermione was a Granger, a grafter, even after everything she'd experienced in her life, and if she was going to get any sense of normality, she was determined to leave her ministry compensation and reparations where it was until she thought it best for her to use it. She was humming along to little talks on the radio when a voice came from behind her and she jumped out of her skin, dropping a box of coffee sachets and whipping around.

“Well hello there Miss Granger”

No. No way. She was hallucinating. She had to be. She shook her head, a look of pure terror on her face as she tried to blink his face away. He was in Azkaban, locked up for life. He wasn't in a high security vault or anything, but she had been there for the trial and she was sure when she had seen his sneering eyes disappearing behind that block, that she would never have to look into them again.

"What are you doing here?” she hissed, neck tense and long, jaw clenched, eyes wide, hands balled into fists, shaking.

The light above them flickered as she struggled to keep her magic under control.

“Got let out of course, didn't I? Very loyal them guards at Azkaban are, but like I've said before, everyone's loyal till you find their weak spot,” he grinned.

She had never seen him so clean. His hair was still long, but silky and smooth, brunette rather than the grimy black she remembered from the time of war. His teeth were wonky from years of being hit in the mouth, but were white and polished as oppose to the yellow, plaque covered ones he had once forced against her own. She had banished this from her mind. Blocked it out, forced herself to lock these memories, these particular emotions in a box at the back of her mind. It was organised in a long stack of other boxes full of all the things she didn't want to have affecting her everyday life anymore and all of those boxes were locked in a bolted metal cell.

But now; god- now they were coming back to her as though that particular box had simply faded away and images of his filthy face looming down on her; putrid breath fanning against her skin, long dirty fingernails dragging tantalisingly, mockingly along her stomach and the dip between her breasts, all those images were piercing the front of her mind once more. The feel of that body binding curse momentarily paralysing her so she hadn't been able to move. She hadn't even been able to scream.

Scabior.

No last name. Just Scabior. He'd had no family to account for him at his trial, no friends to vouch for him once the other deatheaters and snatchers had been rounded up. He was completely singular, simple. And yet, in her head, he had a place so powerful, so toxic and ruining, that she could not even begin to explain to anyone the true nature of what his presence did to her.

“Well, you know, in the neighbourhood,” he shrugged, putting his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, wearing the same smug sneer he had all those years ago when he had her pinned to the floor of Malfoy Manor.

“Don't-” she started, nearly choking on her words “don't you fucking dare even- god how the hell are you even out?” she snapped, eyes brimming with stinging tears. The boxes on the shelves were wobbling now with the force of her emotion, he anger, hatred, fear.

“That's no way to talk to a customer Miss Granger, perhaps I should report you to the head of faculty,” he smirked and she spat on the floor at his feet, shaking her head furiously.

“I'm not a little girl anymore you bastard, you can't intimidate me,” she shouted in a hushed voice, her whole jaw moving to form the sharp syllables.

“Elematary,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow when one of the boxes filled with glasses went sliding off the shelf and smashing to the floor.

“You raped me,” she screamed loudly, knowing that he had already magically soundproofed the room so they wouldn't be overheard.

“Apparently so,” he sighed as though they could be discussing the weather, playing with his fingernails, looking only half interested in what was going on around him.

“Don't- don't you feel anything? No remorse or fucking guilt?” she surged, outraged by his lack of expression.

“Nope,” he popped the word from his lips.

“Why are you here? Is this some kind of sick joke?” she yelled and he shook his head, looking offended.

“Oh no, you see; I don't joke anymore,” he said, pushing off the wall he was leaning against.

“You forget who I'm friends with,” she hissed, eyes narrowed, whole body rigid, quivering with effort to refrain from ripping his entire body limb from limb. She had forgotten how powerful hate was, how damaging and corrupting it was. She'd forgotten what it was to truly want to take a life.

“No to that as well. I simply wanted to see if I could feel any remorse; I was intrigued too, I wanted to see if you'd changed much since our last... encounter,” he drawled, moving to take a step forward but cursing in pain when a simple glance at his foot from her had his shoe steaming with heat. Magic was dangerous in situations like this. She didn't know how much longer she would be able to hold it all in.

“You have grown,” he snapped, attempting to look as though he wasn't now regretting his decision to visit her.

“Yes, I have,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“How is that so?” he asked.

In magical medicine, all previous cases of rape in young people had resulted in a mental hint in development. Others her age who had been subjected to such assault during the war had not every truly recovered, or had simply not been able to learn further how to use their magic. Others had lost their powers all together, or rather, the mental strength to conjure it from within them. But over the three years after the war, she had been working with Harry fiercely, determined to build up her abilities again, to learn occlumency and push out the demons that invaded her mind. Once she'd mastered that control, that level of organisation over her thoughts and feelings, then with it, her abilities in all other areas of her magical skills had flourished beyond anything the ministry and experts had thought possible for someone of her age and history. Now she could even prevent Snape iron cladly from entering her thoughts via legillimency; which, he of course, was not very pleased with. Although, he had actually congratulated her on achieving such a prestigious level of capability.

If she was pushed, if someone were to break her fuse; she would no doubt be able to give them everything they deserved.

“Time, determination, teachers. Motivation,” she said, trying to remind herself that she was as sane as she chose to be. And right now, she didn't want to do something she knew she'd regret. Someone within the guards of Azkaban had obviously been threatened or bribed to let him go, by which case, she knew she would need to go to the Ministry in person and sort. Really, her week was not shaping up to be as normal as she might have wished.

“Spoken like a true Gryffindor,” he said distastefully, looking at her as though she smelt of dog faeces.

“You're lucky this Gryffindor hasn't killed you yet,” she reminded him, almost hurting with how much she was still having to fight off the urge to do so.

“I suppose I am. Well, I can tell I am unwelcome, I'll just leave-”

In a split second she had slammed him against the wall with magic and was pointing her wand at his throat, pure loathing and fury etched into the normally soft features of her face.

“ _Are_ you going to kill me?” he asked, half-laughing. She could tell he was panicking.

“No, I'm not like you,” she sputtered, voice vibrating “I sent word to Harry three seconds after I laid eyes on you. He'll be here within a minute.”

“That's it? You have the chance to kill the man who ruined your life and you're simply sending me back to prison?” he chuckled, still attempting to look like he wasn't terrified.

“No, you want me to kill you, that's why you came here,” she smiled, surprised by her own sadism “but,” she grinned now, dragging her wand down his neck, through the middle of his torso so it was pointing to his groin “I will make sure you're never allowed to rape anyone ever again,” she breathed in his ear, making sure that he heard every word “segmentum,” she let the single word roll from her tongue in barely a whisper and she revelled in the yelp of fear escaping his lips before the spell cast and a silent scream of absolute agony left him. She stepped back, watching as the blood immediately began pouring from his crotch, soaking through the trousers he was wearing.

Harry apparated in a second later, taking one glance at Scabior now sobbing pitifully on the floor in a fetal position.

“Get him out of my sight,” she asservated through gritted teeth, not even looking at him for a second longer than she needed to. She clicked her fingers once and the boxes moved back to where they had been previously, repairing the broken glass in the box that had fallen.

“Make an excuse to my colleague Andrea, I'm going back to my apartment- no," she half-shouted as he moved to hold her "just- don't,” she said in short words, not being able to look at her best friend either, simply turning on the spot and appearing in her apartment, wasting no time before she finally let out the anger that had been screaming at her whole body for over twenty minutes.

Without soundproofing the walls, she completely smashed apart everything she owned, blacking out.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hermione?” Harry called softly as he let himself into her flat, sighing as he saw the broken coat hanger debris, splintered into about fifty pieces on the floor. One of her windows were smashed as he entered the living room warily, readying himself for a bit of a fight if she was still letting rip on her belongings. He just hoped she hadn't turned to letting rip on herself once she was done with everything else she owned.

No. He pushed the mind-ruining thought away. Hermione was stronger than that. He had trained her to be stronger. He stepped over her coffee table which seemed to be scattered in bits around the room. The only things unharmed were the photo frames depicting the smiling faces of her parents.

“Mione? Sweetie, you here?” he called again, moving out into the hallway and quickly peaking through her bedroom door. She was nowhere to be seen but it looked as though she had somewhat calmed by the time she'd made her way in there previously; there was less damage. That left one room, seeing as her kitchen was directly attached to her lounge which he had already searched. The bathroom. He slowly opened the door, keeping one hand on his wand in case he needed to restrain her. Instead, he found her curled up in the corner next to her bath, legs hugged tightly to her chest, body shaking violently, hair a mess, face red and blotchy, knuckles slightly mangled. She'd been in that position for a long while because the blood on her hands was dry and she seemed locked in place. He let out a breath of sadness and crouched in front of her, looking her straight in the eye.

“Hey, come on, you need to remember what we taught you; you're locked on again,” he spoke in a low, nurturing voice with a solid edge.

After the war, he had spent a lot of time with Hermione, talking to her, recovering. He knew how to deal with her, he knew pretty much every single expression that her face possessed, knew what to say and how to say it to her. But she looked so lost, so angry, so broken. He got no reaction from her, which he had mostly expected. Normally when she was caught onto something she locked away, he just had to wait until she'd tired herself out. He sighed again, dropping onto his backside and shuffling in next to her, lifting an arm around her and pulling her in close, hiding her body from the world for a couple of hours. He had no idea how Scabior had managed to get let out of Azkaban, but he would see to it later that none of the guards ever disobeyed or betrayed their employers ever again.

For now, he would hold her until she fell asleep. He'd have to let Merlin know what was going on somehow, but he could wait. That was all the poor guy had been doing for three thousand years.

* * *

“Merlin?” Arthur asked tentatively, appearing in the doorway to see his manservant on the sofa, back arched, head in his hands, fingers scraping through his dark hair.

“Do you need something?” Merlin asked, looking up as a reflex, but not showing him his full face.

“No, I was just wondering why you look as though your insufferable dog just died,” Arthur frowned at his behaviour.

“Jamie is absolutely fine, it's just you, you've never liked dogs”

“You can never tell what they're thinking!” he exclaimed, but caught himself, reminding himself that Merlin was the one who was the topic of conversation. Things were still very fragile and unsure between them and his best friend was upset, he could tell.

“Merlin, c'mon, you know I hate it when you don't tell me what's wrong,” Arthur huffed, moving into the room and sitting down close next to Merlin on the strange piece of furniture the people of the age called a 'sofa'.

“What's going on?” Arthur demanded, nudging him impatiently, flicking his knee hard.

“Just an issue with Hermione, that's all. She's got a lot going on right now and it's – it's very thought provoking. I'm a little over-protective of her, you know what I'm like,” Merlin struggled and Arthur couldn't help the tiny smile on his mouth. Yes, he knew very well how protective Merlin was of the people he cared for. In the twenty years that he did get to spend with his best friend, they had been in many fights where someone had injured him, and he did not miss the murderous look Merlin's eyes took on every time it happened.

“Well, who do you want to protect her from?”

“It's complicated”

“When is it not?”

“It's a long story!”

“Merlin don't even start talking to me about how long things take, three thousand years-”

“Yes, okay, I get it,” Merlin snapped, immediately hissing out a breath of regret, glancing sideways at him.

“Sorry, I'm just angry that's all. Hermione – well, she's special and she's been through to many bad things that she doesn't deserve,” Merlin began and Arthur nodded.

“I know, I've seen her, she looks to be of great intelligence and compassion,” Arthur agreed, not missing the fond quirk of Merlin's mouth at the mention of two of Hermione's best traits.

“She is. She's absolutely full of it. She – she went to war. There was a horrible, horrible person a couple of years ago who killed a lot of his own kind because they didn't buy into his blood purity values,” Merlin explained.

“Blood purity?”

“Yeah, he was a wizard, a very powerful one-”

“I thought you were called warlocks?”

“I am! They just prefer the term 'wizard'”

“Well that's ridiculous,” Arthur scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you want to hear about this or not? He thought that the only people who should be alive and powerful, were wizards of magical parents. Hermione's parents didn't have magic”

“Your parents didn't have magic Merlin, and Gius told me that you're the most powerful warlock to ever walk the world”

“My Mother didn't. My father was a dragon lord”

“WHAT-” 

“Telling a story,” Merlin reminded, shaking his head at Arthur's sudden outrage.

“Anyway; Hermione was discriminated against. There was a war between this man's followers, and all the people backing Hermione's kind. She went through a lot, she's only nineteen and she's played a main part in defeating almost an entire army of grown men,” Merlin claimed in a proud voice tinted with sadness.

“Well what's actually bothering you tonight then?” Arthur asked, bringing the whole thing back to the matter in question. He wanted to know what had gotten his manservant in such a state.

“During the time she spent in exile, Hermione was captured by the enemy with her two best friends Harry and Ron. She was tortured, and had a derogatory word carved into her arm with a blade I strongly suspect was forged with some sort of dark creature's magic. She won't let me get a closer look at it though, so I can't tell her for sure.

When she was there though, in the space between being left half-conscious, and escaping, a man called Scabior raped her,” Merlin paused, hands clenching into fists. Arthur squeezed his knee, letting his shock sink in as he tried to understand the pain the girl must be going through. He'd never been able to tolerate men like that in his own time. He had known kings, friends of his fathers, who frequently forced themselves on their servants and sexually assaulted them simply because they were king, and they could. Arthur could never have done that to anyone in his employ, or anyone else. He thought the act to be revolting and despicable.

“She got over it – well, she'll never properly get over it – but she recovered. Her mental strength and capacity is just overwhelming sometimes, you know? She can actually control her mind into sorting through every thought in a filing and boxing system! She has a hypothetical jail cell in her head that contains all the things that make it difficult for her to function, all stacked up in imaginary boxes. It's called 'occlumency'. The thing is, last night, Scabior managed to get out of prison and he went to see her at her work place,” Merlin finished, closing his eyes tight, willing himself not to get angry again.

“Is she unharmed?” Arthur asked, suddenly worried. He didn't know the girl, but he could tell she was of good heart. Witty, clever and important to Merlin; he had respected her almost instantly after she'd helped to pull him from the lake. He didn't want her to get hurt.

“Physically, she's fine. Mentally – well, Harry's looking after her. He's updating me every couple of hours. He's gotten her to eat and sleep, and he says she's already starting to tell him off for fussing over her. She's in bed now in her apartment, reading”

“Did she kill Scabior?”

“She cut of his penis”

Arthur coughed in surprise, eyes wide as he spluttered, mouth dropping open. After a few seconds however, he broke into a wide smile, chuckling and shaking his head.

“I don't know where you make all these strange friends Merlin, but they are very amusing sometimes. Good on her, the bastard got everything he deserved. I don't suppose they'll be able to grow it back?” Arthur inquired, still laughing a little.

“There are potions that could, but I doubt Harry will let them. He'll never be able to rape anyone else ever again,” Merlin hypothesized, shrugging.

“Like you said though mate, she's strong; don't worry too much, I'm sure she'll be fine... also, can you show me how to work the strange cooking thing in the kitchen, I'm still grasping the concept of electronic buttons,” Arthur added on the end, knowing that when Merlin was worked up about something, he needed distractions, things to keep him busy.

“You're useless”

“I'm King Merlin and you can't-”

“I can talk to you like that when you're being useless. C'mon, we'll make some popcorn and watch a movie,” Merlin sighed, standing up and walking past Arthur to the kitchen.

Arthur didn't know what 'popcorn' or 'movie' was, but if Merlin wanted to do them, that was fine by him.

* * *

“Are you sure about this Hermione? I don't want to make you do anything if you're still-”

“I'm fine,” she snapped, grabbing his hand tightly and taking Arthur's in her other.

“Hold your breath, you'll probably throw up,” she warned blandly, turning on the spot. 

In a split second Merlin was engulfed by an explosion of colour and light and flashes of blurred places and voices. He felt as though his lungs were being crushed, his ribs being pulled in to breaking point. No matter how hard he tried to breathe out air, he couldn't manage it, there was just too much pressure pushing down on his body. He gripped Hermione's hand tighter, closing his eyes and attempting to focus on not hurling up his dinner. The spinning started to hurt his head and all his muscles were aching. He hit the ground with a dull thud, groaning as he felt it bruise his stomach and legs. He just remembered to turn his head before his nose slammed against the grass and he felt Arthur coughing next to him, the wind knocked out of him thoroughly.

“I told you to hold your breath,” Hermione sighed, holding out the hand he'd let go of at some point so she could pull him to his feet.

“You didn't tell me I was going to be sucked in by tonnes of air!” Merlin exclaimed, helping Arthur up to full height, steadying his pale looking friend.

“I can't believe you've never apparated. You're the most powerful wizard in history, and you have never once apparated,” she said, exasperated and obviously still annoyed.

“Our kind have found out a lot more about magic in the last few centuries Hermione,” he defended, pouting.

“So why didn't you ever study here then?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow and turning his attention to their surroundings.

His eyes settled on a stunning landscape of trees and hills, then on the gate they were stood in front of, tall, brass and grand. Then, his eyes widened almost comically when they fell upon the castle of Hogwarts, mouth dropping open with a small gasp.

“Study where?” Arthur frowned, looking irritated and ill, trying to figure out what they were looking at “it's just an old ruin,” he added.

“Right, sorry, wards are still up. Minerva,” Hermione beeped through an automated speaker attached to the frame. It was glowing a strange colour blue and seemed to float on the pole rather than sit firmly on the metal.

“Okay dear, I'll send Horace down to let you in now,” a solid, strong female Scottish accent replied and Merlin jumped out of his skin when a red-faced, round bellied old man popped up on the other side of the gate from thin air. With a small flick of his wand, the magical barrier came down and Arthur let out a tuft of shocked breath as the grounds became momentarily visible to him as a Muggle. The gates opened and a slow smile broke out on Hermione's face as the old man grinned wide, holding his arms out surprisingly gracefully for her to enter them. She hugged the man Merlin had assumed was 'Horace' tightly, pressing a peck to his cheek and pulling away. There was a younger expression on her face now, softer, more nurturing. The Hermione he now only saw glances of. The Hermione he supposed she used to be.

“Professor, you're looking very well,” she remarked, scrunching her face up like a child when Horace tapped her face between his hands, stepping back to get a proper look at her.

“And you my dear, you look as though you are coming very much into your own. You grow more and more beautiful every time I have the pleasure of seeing you,” he claimed adoringly. It was not with a creepy, overly-romantic tone that he said this however, but with a proud, fatherly tone, admiring her. Merlin couldn't help nodding his agreement. Hermione really was something special.

“Well, c'mon then, I want to hear all about university life,” Horace said with a sudden eagerness, putting his hand in the small of her back and gesturing for Merlin and Arthur to follow them. There was something still not quite right between servant and king. They were both unsure of the status they were living in. They slept together, Merlin had taken a couple of days of Uni to be with his king in his flat and make sure he didn't get up to anything in the mean time. But of course, they were still awkward and not particularly brilliant at openly expressing their feelings to each other, that had not changed. It had just been _so_ long and so painful and lonely and there were so many things both Arthur and Merlin wanted to say, so many things they wanted to tell each other. Three thousand years was a lot of time, and when things had ended so abruptly, it was difficult to know how to start them up again.

Before Arthur had died, they had worked somewhat of a system. They had only just managed to start a secret relationship. Well, if it could even be called that really. They'd ended up having sex a couple of times without really meaning to, and Gwen had actually been aware of it. In fact, she'd always been aware of the attraction between the best friends, and had called her official relationship off with Arthur at least three months before he had fallen at Avalon. Gwen was wise and nurturing and she did what was right for the people and the kingdom. She had actually stopped Merlin from serving in the middle of dinner one night, sent the guards and other servants out and simply been very blunt with the two.

_"I want to say, before I begin, that I still care deeply for the both of you although I am a little insulted that I wasn't outright informed of your relationship sooner,” she started and the breath caught in Merlin's throat, the jug falling from his hands and clattering loudly to the concrete floor._

_"I do think of course, with King's permission, that I should remain in place as Queen of Camelot and appear married to you for as long as my service is required. I will simply vacate to my old quarters and keep quiet that anything at all has changed,” she smiled, taking on the brilliant façade she was getting better at, straightening her neck and staring a flabbergasted Arthur right in the eyes._

_"_ _W-What are you talking about Gwen sweetheart? This is ridiculous! There's no need for-”_

_“My dear Arthur, there is every need. The bottom line is that you are both my best friends in the whole world despite everything and I refuse to stand in the way of your happiness._ _Merlin is pretty much your advisor on most things anyway, and I am your Queen. We have always ran this Kingdom with great and strong hands as a trio, and we shall continue to do so without disruption. The only difference is that we shall not be a couple in private anymore. I have faith that one day the two of you will be able to be in such a relationship publicly,” she sighed, shooting them another smile before excusing herself and leaving them both open mouthed and extremely confused as to what Gwen had just said._

It was true, Merlin believed, they had ran the Kingdom as an incredibly successful trio with the support and loyalty of the Knights and for three years before Arthur's downfall. But... the attraction between them had just sort of... crept up on them and shoved them together. Three months Merlin had been happy for, three months he'd woken up almost every day next to his king snoring like a bulldog. Three months he had spent closer to Arthur than he had ever been in his life. And those three months ended cruelly and suddenly no matter how much they had cared for each other or wanted more time. But now, they had the option to get it all back, to go home again (if they could find a way anyway). Now Merlin had Arthur back and he just wasn't sure what to do with that. The happiness and fear he felt in his heart was such a change to everything he'd felt in the three thousand years he spent waiting.

“Merlin, you know I don't like it when you're brooding,” Arthur said, nudging him as they walked, Hermione and Horace chatting animatedly in front of them.

“What's bothering you?” he asked. Merlin couldn't help but scoff, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking down at the floor, a small smile of irony on his lips.

“Why is it that you're always the one asking me that?” he sighed, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“Maybe because I'm your best friend and I'm supposed to ask you what's wrong when I think you're being a moody, gloomy manservant. Also, I'm the king, so you have to tell me,” Arthur teased. As usual, there was an underlying level of uncertainty to it. Then it hit Merlin. He was tiptoeing around him.

“You haven't done anything wrong Arthur, you don't owe me anything so stop feeling guilty for what happened at Avalon. Mordred killed you, you're not responsible for any of this,” he said, shaking his head in thought. Hermione glanced behind at them both now and again, watching how close they were. Despite their issues; the two really were physically the most comfortable people she'd ever seen around each other. Merlin walked awkwardly as usual, his arms straight, hands protected by his jean pockets. Arthur moved along beside him, proud and open in his body language, his arm not even a millimetre away from Merlin's.

“I know that but-”

“Arthur, breathe will you; I'm just sort of... resigned a little now. It'll take me a couple of weeks to get used to the fact that I'm not alone anymore, just because I'm not prattling about nonsense like I used to constantly doesn't mean I'm not me. I'll be okay soon, just... stop worrying and tuck the tag in on your jacket,” Merlin frowned, smirking slightly when he reached up behind him and moved the neck label underneath the fabric, rolling his eyes.

“Three thousand years old and you still can't dress yourself properly,” he teased back, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. He missed their carefree demeanour.

Of course, maybe not so much as Arthur grabbed a hold of his neck, trapping him in a head lock and messing up his hair as they nearly reached the castle. Hermione laughed at a dishevelled and pouting Merlin  before winking at Arthur who still refused to let go of his friend until he took his little comment back.

Yeah, Merlin thought, they were going to be just fine.


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin and Arthur were amongst a column of huge, leather bound books shuffling through paragraph after paragraph of both old and new English when the head mistress came walking in. Save for the few students doing homework between classes, the Hogwarts library was fairly quiet and pretty much deserted for the weekend, leaving them silence to work in and hardly any distractions.

Hermione rose from her seat with a huge smile on her face as Minerva McGonagall approached her at the long varnished oak bench table that ran through the centre of the incredibly large room, embracing the woman tightly. Arthur didn't look up from 'Mid evil magic of the Old religion' but Merlin suddenly became a lot more aware of what he was doing. He had much respect for teachers such as McGonagall and had heard a lot about her from Hermione who admired the old woman adoringly. He listened in more when the two witches sat down facing each other.

“Well then dear, you have got yourself into quite the situation haven't you? I was very surprised when I got your message; I thought it impossible. Of course, Dumbledore's portrait would not shut up about how I should stop being so sceptical,” Minerva said, sat forward, greying hair pulled up in a tight bun on the back of her head, wise eyes captivated, body leant forward; obviously deeply interested in their predicament.

“Yes well, Professor Dumbledore always did have a soft spot for the impossible, didn't he? I had a hard time believing what I was being told as well, I've been jumping out of my skin all week. But Merlin – and I cannot believe that I am even saying this sentence – is my friend. And his... uhh... friend Arthur is apparently needed in the – well, in the past” Hermione attempted to explain nervously. Merlin felt a pang of guilt in his gut for putting her through all this stress; he could probably have sneaked into Hogwarts himself to scour through the library for answers on how to get back to his own time, but Hermione insisted on involving herself and it was much easier this way.

“So it's all – it's all true then? Avalon, the legend of Arthur Pendragon? The origin of our kind? The once and future king?” McGonagall said, seemingly cool and professional demeanour escaping her as she struggled to grasp what Hermione was telling her. Apparently she had not actually believed everything up until this point.

Merlin snorted to himself, causing Arthur to look up with a half-furrowed brow.

“They always refer back to you; freaking Arthur Pendragon, once and future king, Arthurian legends. HELLO, I WAS THE ONE THAT SAVED YOUR CLOTPOLE ASS OVER AND OVER AGAIN! Why isn't it... Merlinian legends or something?” Merlin hissed, pouting and crossing his arms over his book from where he was perched up on the windowsill, legs dangling off the side, back leant against the glass. A smug smile spread across Arthur's face; one of confidence and certainty that he hadn't seen since he had awoken. It made Merlin want to hit him; which wasn't necessarily a new urge or anything, just one that hadn't been very frequent lately. He was too caught up in everything else to realise that everything he used to love and hate about being servant to King Arthur was flooding back to him.

“Because I'm brilliant and you're an ass,” Arthur grinned, cocking his chin up proudly and winking at him. Merlin swallowed to get a hold on himself; remembering how that goddamn stupid smile and wink used to affect him in very inappropriate ways, ignoring the blush appearing hot in his cheeks and rolling his eyes.

“Modest as ever, Sire,” Merlin remarked, shaking his head slowly and going back to his book.

“Modesty is an important quality for a king of my statute,” he replied and Merlin could feel himself smiling despite himself, willing the blush on his face to go the fuck away before he started blundering like an idiot again. Three thousand years and he was still as clumsy and nervous as he had been as a seventeen year old boy when Arthur was being all annoyingly attractive and flirty.

“A king that no one even knows exists anymore,” Merlin uttered under his breath. He narrowed his eyes, looking offended when the book was pulled from his hands and Arthur was stood in front of him, one eyebrow raised, mouth quirked to the side yet again.

“ _You_ know I exist,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice.

“Unfortunately, yes. It seems even three thousand years isn't enough to get rid of you,” Merlin said, managing a witty retort despite the fact that his legs were being pulled forward and Arthur was standing between them.

“Well, you know, once and future king and all,” Arthur shrugged, now a hairs breath away from his face, smile still on his face. Merlin's heart was speeding up rapidly and his breath was catching in his throat.

“Destiny's a bitch,” Merlin breathed before lips were pressing against his own and his limbs seemed to liquefy. Either that or they took on a mind of their own, arms wrapping around Arthur's neck, bringing him closer as he pressed further into the kiss. His body seemed to heat up the moment they made contact and his skin was extra sensitive to practically everything. This was not a good idea, the worst time to be kissing actually, in the middle of a library in Scotland like a couple of lovesick teenagers where they were supposed to be looking for a way back to their own time without creating a paradox but – oh okay, fuck – Merlin did not seem to be able to grasp any self control. 

“I hate you,” he gasped when Arthur's hands sneaked under the back of his top, running slowly up his spine, nails catching along his waist making him arch forward.

“That is no way to speak to a king Merlin”

“I still hate you”

“Of course you do; you know I could fire you for that”

“No you can't, your honour would get in the way. I'm guaranteed this job till the day we both die, dumbass,” Merlin managed to remark breathlessly before Arthur deepened the kiss and tucked his hands into the waistband of his trousers.

“We're in a fucking library,” Merlin hissed, with no actual ability to get him to stop. It had been so fucking long since they had been this close, this in touch with each other and it was almost too much for him to breathe.

“So stop me then,” he groaned quietly, trailing kisses and licks along Merlin's jawline, leaving a track of fire down his neck, stopping to suck a little on his pulse point.

“Merlin,” Hermione called from the table and he froze, Arthur letting out a whine of disappointment when Merlin kicked him in the hip to get him to move away so he could jump down from the window.

“Twenty first century or not, people are still insistent of being cock blocks,” Arthur grumbled, watching Merlin push off the seat and land athletically on his feet.

“We're in a fucking library,” Merlin repeated and Arthur glared at him whilst he tried to calm his erratic heartbeat.

“As you so coherently pointed out a second ago,” he sighed, bringing an arm up to scratch the back of his head. Merlin rolled his eyes again; he was three thousand years old, he might not have the willpower to act rationally when he was kissing Arthur Pendragon, but he sure as hell knew how to get his hormones in check after being interrupted. After all, they had been in a secret... relationship, before all this had happened. If he had a penny for everytime he had used the poetry excuse on the knights doing castle patrol, he'd be as rich as his sort-of-boyfriend.

“Hermione, did you find something?” Merlin asked innocently, getting his heated blush under control before brushing past Arthur and peeping his head around the bookshelf.

“I think I may have a couple of minutes ago. This is Professor Minerva McGonagall, she's the headmistress,” Hermione said neutrally; although, Merlin did not miss the pursing of her lips as she attempted not to start giggling at his dishevelled hair and breathless appearance.

Damn clever witch and her intuition. 

“Oh wow, pleasure to meet you Professor, Hermione has told me a lot about you,” Merlin said a little awkwardly with a bright smile. He was charismatic by nature and was capable of having an intelligent conversation with pretty much anyone; but he was still somewhat of a young boy in mind and wasn't always good with meeting new people.

“Of course dear – blimey, he looks – he looks very young”

“Well, yes, I don't really know how that works but-”

“It's difficult to explain. There's my Merlin form, and my Emrys form. We're the same person, just two different appearances; it's a bitch to explain. Sorry ma'am,” he said, moving to sit down with them.

“Fascinating. And you're looking for a way to return to your own time?” the witch asked with the arch of her brow. He nodded.

“Yes, without creating a paradox. I was told that 'when Albion's need is at its greatest, King Arthur will return again'; basically, there's something wrong back in our time, something of monumental proportions and we need to go and sort it out”

“What he means ma'am,” Arthur seemed to gather himself, appearing from behind the bookshelf with his best, most convincing charming smile on his face “is that Miss Granger here has told us about what an incredible sorceress you are and, if it's not too much trouble, we would very much like to hear about anything that you think would help us in our predicament”

Merlin drew in a deep breath, pursing his lips together and looking at the table; he was ridiculous. Arthur had a lot on his mind all the time, yet he could still make even the sharpest of people blush like schoolgirls. McGonagall cleared her throat, eyes widening a little as they clapped onto this legendary man who was smiling at her like she was the only woman in the world. Merlin had to swallow the laughter in his throat because he knew exactly what Arthur was doing; if the woman was happy and took a liking to them, then all this would work a lot quicker.

“Well,” she coughed, clearing her throat. Hermione looked at Merlin with eyes full of mirth, her lips pulling into a restrained smirk “I fear that my dear Hermione here has overestimated me; I actually know little of time travel” Minerva began, her throat visibly tighter, eyes brighter.

Minerva McGonagall had the look of a woman who had very much been beautiful in her youth; strong cheekbones, sparkling green eyes, creamy skin – though quite wrinkled now – holding little scars or blemishes. She was tall with straight yet soft posture. She held the wisdom and kindness of a leader who had seen too many wrongs and Merlin immediately trusted her.

“But I know of a member of staff who has dabbled more within this field than my tired old brain has,” she carried on and Hermione's shoulders dropped, eyes darkening as her tongue darted out to wet her lips; she took on somewhat of a disgruntled, defensive demeanour.

“Snape,” the word slipped unenthusiastically from Hermione's mouth and Merlin's brow furrowed slightly. She had talked very briefly of that name in the past, trailing off subject but brushing straight back the moment she accidentally strayed near talking about the mysterious 'Snape'.

“Quite right Hermione, I believe he will have more knowledge on the matter, I spoke to Fillius yesterday and he said that he has no idea and Pamona looked through all the Herbology books she could get a hold of, there's nothing. But I've been extremely busy of late and I haven't gotten around to speaking with Severus, perhaps you should pay a visit to him in the dungeons,” Minerva said with a knowing look at her former student who was now looking uncomfortable.

“I don't know if that's-”

“Now Hermione, you have visited three times in the last four years and it's the most animated I have seen the man in over thirty years; of course, animated for Severus includes actually turning up to dinners and staring much more avidly at the ground, but he was animated nonetheless. Besides, you never did talk about-”

“Yes Minnie, there's a reason we haven't talked about... _that._ And it's because he's a bitter old man and he hates me,” Hermione huffed moodily. Merlin picked up on the change in address; 'Minnie' was obviously a nickname reserved only for the woman's closest friends and Hermione had used it deliberately.

“Hermione, I am not going to do your dirty work for you, I have several cases with the Slytherins to tackle and that is my responsibility-”

“It's fine,” Merlin interjected, getting looks from all three of his companions “I'll go down and talk to the man myself. He can't possibly be as bad as you're making out,” he said, not sounding very confident. Hermione scoffed dramatically as Arthur moved instinctively to stand behind Merlin, a hand resting gently on his shoulder it was only Merlin who witnessed Minerva's eye line following the action, right eyebrow twitching slightly as though she was considering something.

“No, I'm not letting you do that you'll have your bollocks hexed off the moment you ask him to do anything for you. I'll come with you,” Hermione sighed, sounding defeated and scowling at Minerva's pleased smile.

“Well that settles it then. Feel free to use some of the living quarters for the night if you wish to stay longer and use the library,” she said, grasping Hermione's hands tightly as they all stood up.

“My dear, I know this place is difficult for some to return to but I do wish you would visit more often,” Minerva said with a small sad smile and tilt of her head.

“I'm sorry, I'll definitely come see you guys a little more,” she smiled back but it didn't touch her eyes and months of being her friend allowed Merlin to know when she was lying.

“Good. And just remember, be nice. You know what Severus is like, he'll rile you up and if you're nice to him, he'll get bored-”

“Minnie, Snape never gets bored of being a sanctimonious asshole,” Hermione remarked, chuckling at the look of disapproval she received for her language.When they were outside the library and about to part, Minerva placed and long, withered yet strong hand on Merlin's arm and made solid eye contact with him.

“You may look young and act like a half-formed adolescent but you've been around for a long time Merlin; longer than anyone I've ever met and I hope you know what you're doing here. Messing with time travel is messy business. I sincerely hope that the Legendary King Arthur is worth all this, and that you haven't waited all these years for no reason. Hermione here is a trouble magnet but she's very precious and if I here that you're making her too stressed or tired, I will have your head faster than you can mutter your mothers name, Legend or not”

Merlin looked at her, taken aback for a few moments before his adams apple bobbed nervously and he nodded, smiling reassuringly, aware that Arthur had stepped closer to him again, more through protective instincts this time.

“I know what I'm doing Professor, I have been around for a long time and I know what is worth taking a risk on, and what is not. This is most certainly an occasion that calls for terrifying risk taking. As for Hermione,” he broke off, glancing sideways at her, mouth twitching “well, I'm pretty sure she knows how to handle herself”

Hermione met his gaze before her lips curled into a bright grin and for a second Merlin was taken back to the point of their first official meeting, the pull between them, the awkwardness, the grinning and laughing and the ridiculousness of two random incredible people drawn to each other. He couldn't help returning the expression when someone as special as Hermione was looking at him with those big brown, warm eyes and scrunching of her nose and dimples.

“Too right she can,” Hermione winked, chewing on the inside of her mouth. Minerva, seemingly satisfied, nodded once and respectfully before a thought passed over her features and she moved her hand from his arm up to his face, cupping it gently. Merlin's breath hitched in his throat as it always did when people touched him like this, and there was something about the feel of the old woman's skin against his cheekbone, something about the warmth flowing through the contact that lurched at his chest and settled in his gut; something that reminded him rather painfully of a type of care he hadn't experienced in three thousand years, an aura that his mother had possessed.

“Merlin,” she said in dismissal, thumb stroking ever so briefly over the skin underneath his eye before she moved past him, pressing a polite goodbye kiss to Arthur's cheek and bidding them leave before walking gracefully off down the stone corridor, silvery cloak billowing behind her slightly.

“She's so...” Merlin trailed off, eyes following the woman long after she dropped out of sight.

“Maternal? She has this strange ability of terrifying you, but capturing you with this strange, warm feeling at the same time. Everyone loves her, in their own way,” Hermione spoke with an adoring expression flitting across her eyes before she nodded, drawing in a breath of finality and foreboding “c'mon then chuckle twats, let's go to our deaths,” she avowed dramatically, threading her arms through both their own and dragging them the other way.

* * *

“Snape, open up,” Hermione called in a voice that sounded much more confident than she really was. Merlin and Arthur were stood behind her, but it did nothing to comfort her anxiousness as a shuffle was heard on the other side of the dark oak wood.

“What the hell are you doing here?” his sharp, silky drawl hit her eardrums before she saw him and he opened the door only enough for his face and body to be visible. It was getting on for late afternoon now and by the black t-shirt and jeans he was wearing, she assumed that he was done with classes for the day.

“I have Merlin and Arthur Pendragon here and they want to know how to get back to their own time; McGonagall said you knew about time travel,” she said, eyes narrowed, posture straight and empowering, voice strong and sure.

“Granger, you're not funny, go home,” he snapped, moving to close the door. She stuck her foot out forcefully however, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her eyebrow.

“I know I'm not funny Snape, but I'm telling the truth. You don't have to believe it but-”

“Granger you're irritating me and I'm going to hex you”

“I'd like to see you try. Besides, you owe me,” she dared. Snape's closed off features froze for a second, a vein in his pale temple pulsing, black pupils piercing her with hatred and anger. Merlin had no idea how Hermione wasn't faltering under that scrutiny, he himself would probably have at least flinched.

“Who are the new unwitting dunderheads you've roped into service-”

Snape's eyes widened when his voice caught in his throat and his entire body went rigid.

“This is Arthur, and this is Merlin. Now will you please let me in so I can explain?” Hermione's voice was softer now, less angry and more strained; hatred or not, it was impossible to resist doing whatever necessary to banish that tone from Hermione Granger's voice. Although, Merlin highly doubted this man had any rational emotion for anyone, let alone Hermione whom he was now looking at with even more loathing than before; only now there was an underlining falter to his resolve and he swallowed hard, making a gruff noise in the back of his throat before simply stepping aside wordlessly, allowing them entrance.

“Thank you,” Hermione acknowledged neutrally, nodding once and gesturing for Merlin to follow her into the room, Arthur trailing behind him. Snape didn't lead them through to his living quarters and Merlin suspected it was a purposeful action and Severus looked pale and grouchy as they settled themselves leaning against the workbenches of the classroom.

“You've been brewing an Alihotsy Draught,” Merlin said, genuinely impressed. The root was very rare and difficult to get a hold of, even more tricky to battle down into the right substance to create the potion.

“My students are too stupid and hazardous to brew it themselves; I'm teaching them the theory of it tomorrow,” Snape said offhandedly although Merlin caught a hint of suspicion and hidden impress within the inky depths of his eyes.

“Interesting. Did you add the Gillyweed as a catalyst? It strengthens the effect and renders it tasteless,” Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow as he sniffed the air to point out the aromas he could detect.

“Granger, who is this man?” Snape demanded, tone harsher and a lot more incriminating.

“It's Merlin-”

“Come now Granger, you're not thirteen years old anymore, surely you don't believe in fairytales,” Hermione was stood in close proximity to the man who was also leaned against his desk on a higher platform at the front of the room, strong, pale, scarred arms crossed over his chest, legs stretched out comfortably. He eyed Hermione now with the first expression Merlin had seen on his face that held any element of respect; it said very clearly 'you're clever, it's ridiculous for you to believe whatever stories these madmen have fed you'. It was strange, Snape seemed to hate Hermione, yet he was very obviously aware of her intellect and didn't mistrust her completely; he regarded her now with somewhat of an unguarded look. For a split second, to Merlin's observant eye, he could see that Hermione and Snape had been through a hell of a lot in their lives whilst knowing each other, and not even their negative feelings towards each other could banish that. There was a link there, a disgruntled, inevitable bond between teacher and ex-student. Merlin made a strong mental note to corner Hermione about her history with this man if he got a chance.

Suddenly, Snape was pinned back against the wall behind him by an invisible force. His eyes went wide for a moment before narrowing nastily, arm pushing against it only to be snapped back hard by the spell. Merlin could feel Arthur's fixated gaze on him, but ignored it, looking Snape straight in the eyes. When Snape met his vision, his lips parted a millimetre in shock and the lines around his eyes creased ever so slightly. Merlin rarely used magic anymore; it was a force of habit more than anything, and so he was not expecting his non-verbal spell to be quite so powerful. Apparently its lack of use had the opposite affect and he swallowed heavily before taking a few slow steps forward.

“Merlin-”

“Severus Snape, I'd say I'm pleased to meet your acquaintance but I largely dislike the way you've talked to Hermione in the few minutes since I've met you and that already puts you in my bad books,” Merlin said, surprised by how short fused and irritated his own tone was.

“Please tell me he's wearing contact lenses, Granger?” Snape said to Hermione, not taking his eyes off Merlin's.

“No. See, I told you; what's the most distinctive thing about the legend of Merlin?”

“The eyes,” he breathed, eye twitching as he swallowed “the golden eyes. But its impossible Granger, no one's dumb enough to live this long just for some old irrelevant and spoilt king”

“Snape shut up, he'll-"

“Yes Professor, I very much advise you to shut up”

Snape glared and Merlin winced when a current of backfiring magic shot through his veins; as though he'd touched an exposed live active wire. His hairs stood on end, his vision momentarily rendered unfocused. It was just enough for Snape to force back the spell with a grunt, and push away from the wall. Merlin stumbled backward from the backlash of power and hissed at the teacher, gritting his teeth and tensing his jaw.

“You bastard-”

“Arthur, behave,” Hermione interjected when Arthur moved forward. She grabbed Snape's bicep to stop him from marching at Merlin who was looking severely pissed off.

“Okay, so we've established that this is the real Merlin from the legend; let it go Snape,” Hermione said levelly in a low voice, nudging him in the ribs to get his attention.

“Get off me Granger,” Snape spat, shrugging out of her grasp. She drew in a calming breath, pinching the bridge of her nose and blinking hard. Snape however, made no further movement towards Merlin.

“What do you want anyway? This is my free time and you're wasting it,” Snape was back to the biting tone, clearly humiliated, but feeling a lot more in power after getting the upper hand on what was believed to be the most skilled wizard ever to live 

“Minnie said you know about time travel, Merlin and Arthur need to get back to their own time without ripping the universe apart,” she replied, pushing down the stress of the situation and reapplying her previous demeanour to Snape, communicating with him through unspoken agreements.

“Well you're screwed then Granger because there's only two things that can do that, and the most accessible one is about fifty million miles away and god knows how many years”

“You're talking about the rumours of-”

“The Doctor. Yes, and he's not going to be dropping in on us any time soon, so get out of my office”

“You met The Doctor”

“I met him once... and we didn't get along,” Snape drawled in a bored tone. She frowned for a second before shaking her head.

“You don't get a long with anyone Snape, it doesn't mean you don't respect the guy. 

“He's not just any 'guy', he's the last time lord. But I've told you, he's inaccessible; he's acquired himself a new attractive little muggle blonde to go traipsing around with” 

“Well what's the other option,” she asked, smirking when Snape froze, grimacing.

“There isn't another option Granger, go home,” he lied and she slid in front of him when he tried to gather some papers up, trapping herself between him and the desk and eyeing him head on with calculating and mischievous posture. Merlin knew that look; she was very much enjoying irritating the hell out of her old school teacher.

“Yes there is. You told me just a second ago that there are two things that could help us; and The Doctor is only one of them... what happened to those hunters you had contact with during the war, the two brothers from Cansas?”

“The Winchesters are currently otherwise engaged. And by engaged I mean attempting to permanently close the gates of hell, plus the scruffy one's angel boyfriend is missing so they're having a lot of difficulties and they're worked to the bone, I'm not calling them; they despise me as much as I despise them,” he dismissed grumpily, taking her by the arms and moving her away from him.

“Well there has to be something!”

“Granger, why are you getting involved in this? It's not your problem, you're supposed to be going to university and getting a million-galleon job; not worrying about assisting a dunderhead warlock and his boyfriend in returning to their own era three thousand years in the past,” Snape exclaimed exasperatedly, shaking his head at her.

“Merlin's my friend Snape,” she replied slowly and clearly “if you have the ability to do something for your friend then you have a fucking responsibility to do it; the shit and the stress doesn't just stop because the wars over, we're wizards godammit! Our lives are never going to be normal, are they?” she broke off, panting a little with irritation and the restraint it was taking not to hex his nose off.

“So tell me what you know about this and I promise I'll leave you alone for the rest of your life,” she proclaimed without taking a proper breath, cheeks flushed, fists clenched, hair frizzling. Snape was staring at her now, frozen in place again whilst he made a decision. His eyes dragged over her animated features, muscles tensing tightly. Only Hermione would have this much chemistry with someone whom she disliked so immensely.

“There's a potion,” he eventually spoke quietly in a silky voice that sent shivers down Merlin's spine “the ingredients are next to impossible to acquire, but when properly brewed, will program itself to merge with every cell in the drinker's body, flowing a link through time and space in order to join with that of the subjects body in the required era,” he continued, head bowed, back facing Merlin and Arthur. Hermione visibly forced herself to relax next to him, watching him whilst he talked.

“So the potion will lock with Merlin and Arthur's DNA, join with the same DNA in the 5th century and pull the conscious mind and bodies into one. Basically; they'll both be transported back into their old bodies in their own time,” she repeated back to him, a mild frown creasing her brow, chewed lips parted slightly, head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed at Snape in thought.

“Once again Granger, your powers of deduction render me incoherent,” he attempted sarcasm but his voice was still so quiet and resigned, it seemed pointless and ineffective.

“What are the ingredients?” she replied, her voice a little croaky from shock. She cleared her throat, stepping ever so slightly closer to her old professor who's arms were supporting some of his body weight against the desk, head still hung.

“Catechu Black,” Snape said, turning properly to face his audience. Arthur looked utterly clueless, eyes flickering to Merlin to see if he had an inkling as to what he was talking about.

“It supposed to be a herb that assists in divination but we figured out a couple of years back that it’s a lot more effective in doing almost the polar opposite. Now they enchant Catechu Black into a powder and mix it with the sand put in time turners, it does a sort of reverse divination, speeds up the time jump,” Hermione explained, looking suddenly grimmer.

“Right Granger, only it's one of the most protected ingredients in the country, it's going to take me at least three weeks to get a hold of, it's not something I can just dream up out of thin air,” he sighed unenthusiastically. She nodded once, lips pressing closer together in another half-smile.

“We can do three weeks, three weeks is absolutely fine... thanks Snape. 

* * *

 

“Arthur?” Merlin croaked, squinting through the dark, bringing a hand up to scratch his head through his messy hair “what are you doing?” he yawned, stumbling sleep drunk through his living room numbly; not a clue where he was stepping. Eventually he managed to clear his blurry vision enough to make out the lean, defined shape of his best friend sat on the sofa, hunched forward, head hung softly. He felt around his furniture, sitting down next to Arthur and adopting the same position, still blinking to get rid of the dry sleepiness in his pupils.

“Nightmare,” Arthur's voice came as a low whisper, a simple word informing him of why he was sat in the lounge half naked at three o'clock in the morning. Everything happened at three in the morning; freaking movies and books always had ridiculous things happening at three in the morning, and now they were both sat on the sofa of Merlin's flat at three in the morning. Great.

“You should have woken me,” Merlin huffed quietly, shoving his friend in the bare shoulder playfully.

“You don't sleep very well, I didn't want to disturb you,” he sighed, hands ruffling through his hair, shoulders tensing ever so slightly.

“Well you know that's pointless, I always wake up when you leave the bed; that hasn't changed,” he scoffed, slapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get the horrible bed taste out “what were you dreaming about?” Merlin asked, a frown creasing his tired brow, his eyes settling briefly on the glowing digital numbers illuminating the watch on his right wrist.

“My father, Gwen, my own death; the usual,” he drawled sarcastically but Merlin knew it was just another defence mechanism. Arthur was always tired of late; he disliked the strange smells and air in 2012 England, the clothes itched his skin and the food confused him. He was a man out of his time, he didn't belong here.

Merlin had lived through hundreds of eras including the whole Hitler shebang – he didn't like thinking about that – and he had the chance to get used to everything; he could speak different languages and name different types of music dating back to the Victorian period, he could repeat the entire Martin Luther King dream speech, he knew history and the present like the back of his hand because he had lived through it all. Arthur had just been... gone. For years and years and years, he had just been a soggy body at the bottom of a lake in a place that only existed in stories now. He was a king used to knights and his Queen and his manservant, used to wars and mythical creatures and living to protect his people.

They most certainly didn't make politicians and royalty like that anymore anyway; and Arthur frequently expressed his frustration at how David Cameron and the current Queen were allowing so many people to end up in horrible situations and how they 'didn't give a shit about foreign policies or allies with other lands'. Merlin had confiscated the morning paper after that and refused to let him watch the news. Besides, it was literally just a listing of all the things that were going wrong in the modern world and Arthur would just get even more worked up about it all.

But the whole world, it had expanded both in size and population, to astronomical proportions far beyond the king of Camelot could ever have imagined. Since they would be leaving this world behind in three weeks, Merlin had decided it best not to tell him a lot about what had gone in the three thousand years he had been gone; besides, that was his own burden to bare. And so it was perfectly understandable that this brave new world should bring about unsettling nightmares for the King; especially seeing as he had died the moment the most important fact of his life had been revealed. He had died just as he'd found out his boyfriend was a warlock. Uther Pendragon would have suffered heart failure.

“If you're doing that thing when you doubt your entire existence and every decision you've ever made because your father would hate them, then you need to stop. It's far too early in the morning to rethink your life sire,” Merlin said softly, eyelids heavy and a little sore. If Arthur thought his sleeping patterns were bad now, he had no idea of what it had been like for the previous three thousand years. Merlin's medical record documented severe insomnia and PTSD along with a prone tendency to have panic attacks at random times. Compared to the time he had spent alone since Arthur's death, he was doing pretty damn good the last week.

“Thanks Merlin, you really know how to make me feel better,” he snapped, chewing on the inside of his mouth. Merlin stared at him for a moment before collapsing back against the interior, reaching a hand out to stroke the base of Arthur's spine in quiet affection.

“I'm sorry Arthur, I know this is difficult for you-”

“Nowhere near as difficult as it's been for you; you've had to go through all this. You had friends, didn't you though? You had someone to talk to? Because the only person I see in your life apart from me, is Hermione and you've only met her recently. It just-” Arthur broke off for a second, struggling to get his words out “it bothers me,” he breathed, shaking his head in despair “it bothers me that you seem so... so _alone_ ,” he uttered, swallowing hard. A lump gathered in Merlin's throat as the words hit home, his brain registering the shear sadness behind them, the hint of self-blame, the physical intensity of the expression.

“I couldn't deal with that Merlin. If I knew I'd left you alone”


End file.
